Beroviero turned to him at last.  He was so used to Marietta’s presence that he paid no attention to her.

“What is that thing?” he asked contemptuously.

“A specimen of the glass we tried,” answered the young man.  “I have blown it thin to show the colour.”

“A man who can have such execrable taste as to make a drinking-cup of coloured glass does not deserve to know as much as you do.”

“But it is very pretty,” said Marietta through the window, and bending forward she rested her white hands on the table, among the little heaps of chemicals.  “Anneal it, and give it to me,” she added.

“Keep such a thing in my house?” asked Beroviero scornfully.  “Break up that rubbish!” he added roughly, speaking to Zorzi.

Without a word Zorzi smashed the calix off the iron into an old earthen jar already half full of broken glass.  Then he put the pontil in its place and went to tend the fire.  Marietta left the window and entered the room.

“Am I disturbing you?” she asked gently, as she stood by her father.

“No.  I have finished writing.”  He laid down his pen.

“Another failure?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps I do not bring you good luck with your experiments,” suggested the girl, leaning down and looking over his shoulder at the crabbed writing, so that her cheek almost touched his.  “Is that why you wish to send me away?”

Beroviero turned in his chair, raised his heavy brows and looked up into her face, but said nothing.

“Nella has just told me that you have ordered my wedding gown,” continued Marietta.

“We are not alone,” said her father in a low voice.

“Zorzi probably knows what is the gossip of the house, and what I have been the last to hear,” answered the young girl.  “Besides, you trust him with all your secrets.”

“Yes, I trust him,” assented Beroviero.  “But these are private matters.”

“So private, that my serving-woman knows more of them than I do.”

“You encourage her to talk.”

Marietta laughed, for she was determined to be good-humoured, in spite of what she said.

“If I did, that would not teach her things which I do not know myself!  Is it true that you have ordered the gown to be embroidered with pearls?”

“You like pearls, do you not?” asked Beroviero with a little anxiety.

“You see!” cried Marietta triumphantly.  “Nella knows all about it.”

“I was going to tell you this morning,” said her father in a tone of annoyance.  “By my faith, one can keep nothing secret!  One cannot even give you a surprise.”

“Nella knows everything,” returned the girl, sitting on the corner of the table and looking from her father to Zorzi.  “That must be why you chose her for my serving-woman when I was a little girl.  She knows all that happens in the house by day and night, so that I sometimes think she never sleeps.”