The Baroness spoke to him as she opened the door.
"My husband has not come yet," she said. "We will not wait for him."
She rang the bell to order luncheon, and Malipieri glanced at Sabina's
face, wondering what the Baroness had said to her, for it was not
reasonable to suppose that the two had left the room in order to
consult in secret upon the question of waiting for Volterra. But
Sabina did not meet his look, and her pale young face was impenetrably
calm, for she was thinking about what she had just discovered. She was
as certain that she knew what had passed in the Baroness's thoughts,
as if the latter had spoken aloud. The knowledge, for it amounted to
that, momentarily chased away the recollection of what Malipieri had
said.
It was rather amusing to be looked upon as marriageable, and to a man
she already knew. Her mother had often talked to her with cynical
frankness, telling her that she was to make the best match that could
be obtained for her, naming numbers of young men she had never seen
and assuring her that likes and dislikes had nothing to do with
matrimony. They came afterwards, the Princess said, and it generally
pleased Providence to send a mild form of aversion as the permanent
condition of the bond. But Sabina had never believed her mother, who
had cheated her when she was a child, as many foolish and heartless
women do, promising rewards which were never given, and excursions
which were always put off and little joys which always turned to
sorrows less little by far.
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