"It is but this, sir; if Nerina enter here, I go."
"You cannot be serious!"
"If you think so, look at me."
He did look at her; at her severe aquiline features, at her heavy eyelids drooping over eyes of implacable wrath, at her firm mouth and jaw, cold as if cut in marble. She was not a woman to trifle or to waver; perhaps she was one who having received offence would never forgive.
"But it is monstrous!" he exclaimed; "you cannot turn adrift a little friendless girl — you cannot leave your own house, your dead husband's house — neither is possible — you rave!"
"It is my son's house. He will harbour whom he will. But if the girl pass the doorstep I go. I am not too old to labour for myself."
"My good woman — my dear friend — it is incredible! I see what you believe, but I cannot pardon you for believing it. Even were it what you choose to think — which is not possible — surely your duty to a motherless and destitute girl of her tender years should counsel more benevolence?"
The face of Clelia Alba grew chillier and harder still.
"Sir, leave me to judge of my own duties as the mother of Adone, and the keeper of this house. He has told me that he is master here. I do not deny it. He is over age. He can bring her here if he chooses, but I go."
"But you must know the child cannot live here with a young man!"