She could not doubt that Fulvia’s mother knew perfectly well how wretched her daughter was, nor that, when with Minna, she sought relief from that wretchedness in, at any rate, occasional conversations on the subject of her unhappiness. It would have been very easy for Signora Dietrich to prevent the intercourse, forbid her daughter to enter Minna’s rooms, put a stop to the whole thing, at any moment she might choose to do so. But she did nothing of the kind, nor ever made the least objection to the visits. She was evidently very sure of her power, and did not trouble herself to interfere in small matters. It angered Minna, even while she admired it. She was, as has so often been said, not accustomed to be thwarted, and this calm smiling contempt for her influence irritated her extremely. In a futile kind of way Minna had tried to find out something about Marchmont, wishing she could hear of something so greatly to his discredit that it might impress even Signora Dietrich with his undesirability as a husband for her daughter. In vain; she did vaguely hear something about him, but nothing that could be called exactly to his discredit--only that he had appeared in London some two years ago, and had there made a not very successful effort to ‘get into’ society; that he had been hated intensely for his meanness and vulgarity; that he had proposed for an English girl of good family, great beauty, and little or no fortune, and had been sent about his business with disdain; all of which might be disagreeable for the gentleman himself, especially if he could not conquer himself of his habit of stinginess, but which formed no data on which to go to Signora Dietrich and say, ‘You cannot possibly let your daughter marry this man.’ If Minna was conscious that the signora must be aware of the interviews between herself and Fulvia, and must be unable to approve of them, there were other thoughts which it never entered into her head to think of, but as to which she was destined to be, later, much enlightened. In the meantime the winter progressed; and she was still at Casa Dietrich, still profoundly interested in the drama going on there, still cherishing a spark of hope, founded on the fact that, as the marriage had not yet taken place, perhaps it might be, ‘somehow or other,’ altogether averted. She forced herself to be smiling and polite to the _padrona_ of the house, hoping that by studious civility her word, if ever she should find a chance to put it in, might carry some weight with it--in which feeble assumption she merely illustrated the fact that the wish is father to the thought, and that she utterly miscalculated her enemy’s nature and capacities.