Everybody, her mother said, was married by arrangement, some for one advantage, some for the sake of another.

After all, San Miniato was better than most of the rest.

There was a certain superiority about him which she would like to see in her husband, a certain simple elegance, a certain outward dignity, which pleased her.

But when her mother had spoken in her languid way of the marriage, Beatrice had resented the denial of her free will, and had answered that she would please herself or not marry at all.

The Marchesa, far too lacking in energy to sustain such a contest, had contented herself with her favourite expression of horror at her daughter's unfilial conduct.