"I will make my house a refuge, or a hospital if need be, for our poor
people," answered Veronica, "but not for my relations, whom I have never
seen. I send them money sometimes, but they shall not come here to beg.
That would be too much. I had enough of those I knew. I am willing to
feed anything that needs food except vultures. I have chosen to live
alone, and alone I will live. The world may scream itself mad and crack
with horror at my doings, if it is so sensitive. It cannot hurt me, and
if I choose to shut my gates, it cannot get in. Besides, they are
coming, the Duca, the Duchessa, and Don Gianluca, and that ends the
matter."
"Nevertheless--" began Don Teodoro, still obstinately unwilling to
retract his word.
"Dear friend," interrupted Veronica, with sudden gentleness, for she was
fond of him, "I like you very much. I respect you immensely. I could not
do half I am doing without you. But you do not quite understand me. I am
sorry that you should think me rash, if the idea of rashness is
unpleasant to you--I will make any other concession in reason rather
than quarrel with you. But please do not argue with me when I have made
up my mind. I am quite sure that I shall have my own way in the end,
and when the end comes, you will be very glad that you could not hinder
me, because I am altogether right. Now we understand each other, do we
not?"
Don Teodoro could not help smiling in a hopeless sort of way, and he
lifted his hands a moment, spreading out the palms as though to express
that he cleared his conscience of all possible responsibility.
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