"Even so, we are rich; we shall travel; we shall meet frequently. You will come to Sicily. Perhaps the Contessa and I may even go to America. Friendship such as ours laughs at the leagues."
But Blake was pessimistic. "Perhaps she won't like me."
Martel laughed at this.
"Impossible! She is a woman, she has eyes, she will see you as I see you. More than that, I have told her that she must love you."
"Then that does settle it! You have hung the crepe on our future intimacy, for good and all. She will instruct your cook to put a spider in my dumpling or to do away with me by some characteristic Sicilian method."
Martel seemed puzzled by the Americanism of this speech, but Norvin merely smiled and changed to Italian.
"Do you really love her?" he asked.
"Of course! Since I was a boy so high I have known we would marry. She adores me, she is young, she is beautiful, she is—rich!"
"In Heaven's name don't use that tone in speaking of her wealth. You make me doubt you."
"No, no!" The Count smiled. "It would be the same if she were a peasant girl. We shall be so happy—oh, there is no expressing how happy we intend being."