She brought him yellow wine of Chios in a glass calix of Murano, blown
air-thin upon a slender stem and just touched here and there with drops
of tender blue.
"A health to the bride of Jacopo Contarini!" she said, with a ringing
little laugh.
Then she set the wine to her lips, so that they were wet with it, and
gave him the glass; and as she stooped to give it, her hair fell forward
and almost hid her from him.
"A health to the shower of gold!" he said, and he drank.
She sat down beside him, crossing her feet like an Eastern woman, and he
set the empty glass carelessly upon the marble floor, as though it had
been a thing of no price.
"That glass was made at her father's furnace," he said.
"A pity he could not have made his daughter of glass too," answered
Arisa.
"Graceful and silent?"
"And easily destroyed! But if I say that, you will think me jealous, and
I am not. She will bring you wealth. I wish her a long life, long enough
to understand that she has been sold to you for your good name, like a
slave, as I was sold, but that you gave gold for me because you wanted
me for myself, whereas you want nothing of her but her gold."
"But for that--" Contarini seemed to be hesitating. "I never meant to
marry her," he added.
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