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He would never forget how she looked the first morning she came into his barn studio at home how enticing she was the first night he saw her at Sylvia's. What a rotten mess living was, anyhow. And so he sat about in the hammock at the Blue homestead, or swung in a swing that old Jotham had since put up for Marietta's beaux, or dreamed in a chair in the shade of the house, reading.
Marietta's happy singing outside in the corridor might have let him sleep a while longer, but her mother's loud scolding, rebuking her for making a racket which could raise a dead man and would end up driving all guests out of the house, encouraged him fully.
He admired and liked her well enough, for that and for other reasons, to take a very disinterested pleasure in putting her in the way of turning an honest penny. The broker's faith in the "Horn of Plenty" was almost as implicit as Marietta's own, and it was with no little pride that he brought the certificate in to her the following day, and unfolded it to her dazzled contemplation.
It would be easy to say that he was an old friend of Jacopo Contarini and wished to make the acquaintance of Marietta's father before the wedding. He would probably have an opportunity of speaking to Zorzi without showing that he already knew him, and he trusted to Zorzi's discretion to conceal the fact, for he was a good judge of men.
Asaph stood thinking, the head of his axe resting upon the ground, a position which suited him. He was in a little perplexity. Marietta's proposition seemed to interfere somewhat with the one he had made to Thomas Rooper. Here was a state of affairs which required most careful consideration.
Marietta came over to borrow the frames for drying curtains, and stayed to breakfast." Something about her accent struck oddly on the trained sensitiveness of the physician's ear. Her tone rang empty, as with something kept back. "Marietta's been snapping at you," he diagnosed rapidly. "Well, a little," Lydia admitted.
Marietta began to sob. "Ye-es, yes," she faltered. "He he said he " "I thought so. And you pretended 'twas my my Julia, my wife.... Oh, my God! And you've been pretendin' all the time. 'Twas all cheatin' and lies, wasn't it? She she never come to you. She never told you nothin'. Ain't it so?" Poor, publicity-loving, sensation-loving Marietta's nerve was completely gone. She sobbed wildly.
"Say, that's a dandy pet name," called Smite, moved by Marietta's beauty. "Poor Marietta," observed Eugene. "Come over here to me and I'll sympathize with you." "You don't take my drawing in the right spirit, Miss Blue," put in MacHugh cheerfully. "It's simply to show how popular you are." Angela stood beside Eugene as her guests departed, her slender arm about his waist.
"'Tain't so much my not makin' myself more generally useful," he said, "that Marietta objects to; though, of course, it could not be expected that a man that hasn't got any interest in property would keep workin' at it like a man that has got an interest in it, such as Marietta's husband would have; but it's my general appearance that she don't like.
It was only toward morning that he slept, his fiddle on the table now, but very near, as if they had shared a solemn vigil and it still knew how he might feel in dreams. It was about ten o'clock when he stopped at Marietta's gate with the light wagon and sober white horse he had borrowed from Lote Purington, "down the road." Marietta was ready at the door, a long white box in her hand.
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