When she entered the big room, he made a solemn bow and occupied himself in the farthest corner so long as she remained.

There is a stage in which even the truest and purest love of boy and maiden feeds on misunderstandings.

In a burst of tears, and ashamed that she should be seen crying, Marietta had bidden him go away; in the folly of his young heart he took her at her word, and avoided her consistently.
He had been hurt by the words, but by a kind of unconscious selfishness his pain helped him to do what he believed to be his duty.
And Marietta forgot that he had picked up the rose dropped by her in the path, she forgot that she had seen him stand gazing up at her window, with a look that could mean only love, she forgot how tenderly and softly he had answered her in the garden; she only remembered that she had done her utmost, and too much, to make him tell her that he loved her, and in vain.

She could not forgive him that, for even after three days her cheeks burned fiercely whenever she thought of it.

After that, it mattered nothing what became of her, whether she were betrothed, or whether she were married, or whether she went mad, or even whether she died--that would be the best of all.
In this mood Marietta entered the gondola and seated herself by her father on Sunday morning.