"Of course," the Princess continued, smoking thoughtfully, "there is
only one thing to be done. You must marry this Malipieri at once,
whether you like him or not. What sort of man is he?"
The faint colour rose in Sabina's cheeks and not altogether at the
mere thought of marrying Malipieri; she was hurt by the way her mother
spoke of him.
"What kind of man is he?" the Princess repeated, "I suppose he is a
Venetian, a son of the man who married the Gradenigo heiress, about
the time when I was married myself. Is he the man who discovered
Troy?"
"Carthage, I think," said Sabina.
"Troy, Carthage, America, it is all the same. He discovered something,
and I fancy he will be rich. But what is he like? Dark, fair, good,
bad, snuffy or smart? As he is an archaeologist, he must be snuffy, a
bore, probably, and what the English call a male frump. It cannot be
helped, my dear! You will have to marry him. Describe him to me."
"He is dark," said Sabina.
"I am glad of that. I always liked dark men--your father was fair,
like you. Besides, as you are a blonde, you will always look better
beside a dark husband. But of course he is dreadfully careless, with
long hair and doubtful nails. All those people are."
"No," said Sabina. "He is very nice-looking and neat, and wears good
clothes.
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