"But what, then, is marriage from your point of view?" she cried.
"A bothersome obligation, when a man marries a woman like you."
"You would have preferred my sister?" she asked, exasperated. But she was at once sorry for this vulgarity; and he speedily punished it.
"Yes, I should have preferred your sister. She's not a bore. I find her extremely diverting."
"She loved you from the beginning," she says. "A pity she didn't tell you so."
"A pity. I assure you I should have married her."
"Ah, very well."
But suddenly she raised her eyes to her husband; and at the sight of that beloved person her courage failed her. She took his hand, and said, "Ah, Cesare, Cesare, you are right. But I loved you, I loved you, and you have deceived me with my sister."
"Signora Dias, you have rather a feeble memory," he returned, icily, drawing his hand away.
"How do you mean?"