"I never had any
sweetheart except you."
"I mean," she said, "that minx who made eyes at you and all your country
neighbors and certainly tried to marry you and most of your Sabine
friends."
"You mean Marcia?" said I.
"Ah," she said, playfully and teasingly, "I thought you would remember her
name. If you remember her name you must remember her."
"Of course I remember Marcia," I said. "How could I forget her after the
way she led my uncle by the nose, had half the countryside mad for her,
set us all by the ears, rebuffed Ducconius Furfur, and married Marcus
Martius?
"If I had never known her before I'd be bound to recall the creature who
embroiled me with you. My! You were in a wax!"
"I certainly was," she whispered, "and I thought I had reason to be
indignant. But now I believe your version of her relations with you and
feel no qualms at recollecting the slanders I then credited. But, the
point is, you remember her."
"My dear," I said, "if I had never set eyes on Marcia except when I
encountered her in the Baths of Titus the day you rescued me from drowning
when I fainted in the swimming pool, I'd remember her for life. She is too
beautiful to forget."
"Am I so hideous?" she demanded.
"You are the loveliest woman alive," I vowed.
Pages:
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624