"Have you seen her, that you can describe her so well? She may have
black hair. Who knows?"

"Yes. Perhaps it is black, thin and coarse like the hair on a mule's
tail; and she has black eyes, like ripe olives set in the white of a
hard-boiled egg; and she has a dark skin like Spanish leather which
shines when she is hot and is grey when she is cold; and a black down on
her upper lip; and teeth like a young horse. I hate those dark women!"

"But you have never seen her! She may be very pretty."

"Pretty, then! She shall be as you choose. She shall have a round face,
round eyes, a round nose and a round mouth! Her face shall be pink and
white, her eyes shall be of blue glass and her hair shall be as smooth
and yellow as fresh butter. She shall have little fat white hands like a
healthy baby, a double chin and a short waist. Then she will be what
people call pretty."

"Yes," assented Jacopo. "That is very amusing. But just suppose, for the
sake of discussion--it is impossible, of course, but suppose it--that
instead of there being only one perfectly beautiful woman in the world,
whose name is Arisa, there should be two, and that the name of the other
chanced to be Marietta Beroviero."

Arisa raised her eyes and gazed steadily at Jacopo.

"You have seen her," she said in a tone of conviction. "She is
beautiful."

"No. I give you my word that I have not seen her. I only wanted to know