She felt at home.  Her mother had brought her up badly and foolishly, and of late had neglected her shamefully.  Sabina knew that and neither loved her nor respected her, and it was not because she was her mother that the girl felt suddenly at ease in her presence, as she never could feel with the Baroness.  She did not wish to be at all like her mother in character, or even in manner, and yet she felt that they belonged to the same kind, spoke the same language, and had an instinctive understanding of each other, though these things implied neither mutual respect nor affection.

“That horrible old Volterra!” said the Princess, with emphasis.  “He means to keep everything he has found, for himself, if he can.  I have come only just in time.”

Sabina did not answer.  She knew nothing of the law, and though she fancied that she might have some morally just claim to a share in the treasure, she had never believed that it could be proved.

“Of course,” the Princess continued, smoking thoughtfully, “there is only one thing to be done.  You must marry this Malipieri at once, whether you like him or not.  What sort of man is he?”

The faint colour rose in Sabina’s cheeks and not altogether at the mere thought of marrying Malipieri; she was hurt by the way her mother spoke of him.

“What kind of man is he?” the Princess repeated, “I suppose he is a Venetian, a son of the man who married the Gradenigo heiress, about the time when I was married myself.  Is he the man who discovered Troy?”

“Carthage, I think,” said Sabina.

“Troy, Carthage, America, it is all the same.  He discovered something, and I fancy he will be rich.  But what is he like?  Dark, fair, good, bad, snuffy or smart?  As he is an archaeologist, he must be snuffy, a bore, probably, and what the English call a male frump.  It cannot be helped, my dear!  You will have to marry him.  Describe him to me.”

“He is dark,” said Sabina.

“I am glad of that.  I always liked dark men—­your father was fair, like you.  Besides, as you are a blonde, you will always look better beside a dark husband.  But of course he is dreadfully careless, with long hair and doubtful nails.  All those people are.”

“No,” said Sabina.  “He is very nice-looking and neat, and wears good clothes.”

The Princess’s brow cleared.

“All the better,” she said.  “Well, my dear, it is not so bad after all.  We have found a husband for you, rich, of good family—­quite as good as yours, my child!  Good-looking, smart—­what more do you expect?  Besides, he cannot possibly refuse to marry you after what has happened.  On the whole, I think your adventure has turned out rather well.  You can be married in a month.  Every one will think it quite natural that it should have been kept quiet until I came, you see.”

“But even if I wanted to marry him, he will never ask for me,” objected Sabina, who was less surprised than might be expected, for she knew her mother thoroughly.