kind was almost impossible to her, and the Italian wondered at the transparency of her effort.
"Such things are always possible," he replied.
"Hardly in this case, for she has no dot. About three thousand a year in her own right, and nothing or little more to come on her father's death is not enough to be married for."
"It might be enough to be married on—in this country," answered Curatulo, with an unchanged smile. "Madame makes the mistake of thinking that all Europeans marry for money, because—pardon me—those who do are almost the only kind her charming compatriots marry."
"They seem to be the only kind who want to marry us," answered Margaret shrewdly.
"But I could show you so many exceptions," said Curatulo. "I could show you marriages of Italians and English, Italians and Americans, where the happiness is still perfect after twenty years. One does not read of those in the papers. 'Happy nations have no history.' Believe me, madame, that Anglo-Saxon misunderstanding of Latins is one of the strangest things about that strange people. The Latins, the Italians certainly, make the most devoted of husbands."
"But not faithful ones," answered Margaret.
"I do not admit that," answered the Italian;77
