It was the austere voice of Carolina, and a love scene behind the second-cabin smoking room came to an abrupt close. Though it was not the first stolen meeting with Armando that she had broken up during the voyage, Carolina had never told the girl that she must shun other suitors because of a husband already chosen for her in New York. Profiting by her experience as a meddler in the love affairs of others, she had deemed best to conceal her matrimonial plans for Casa Di Bello until it should be too late for Marianna to defy her wishes. Not until the final day of the passage, therefore, did she let out the cat. Then she pictured to the girl the splendid future prepared for her as the wife of Signor Di Bello, the merchant prince of Mulberry. “But I am promised to Armando,” said Marianna. “How can I marry any one else?” “Bah! A poor devil whom you would have to feed. You will never see him again. In America he will soon forget you and find another _amorosa_. With my brother for a husband you will be a signora--as fine a lady as any in America. We have many pigs in Mulberry. With this good-for-naught sculptor you would soon be one of them.” “He is as good as any one else--even your brother. Anyhow, I love him.” The hour had come for Carolina to assert her power. “Love him!” she snapped. “What if you do? Will love put meat in your soup? You are _matta_ [crazy]. Perhaps I shall find a way to give you reason. Do you think you would like to be homeless in that?” The ship was nearing the Battery, and Carolina pointed toward the New York shore. With deep satisfaction she perceived that the girl’s spirit quailed before the awful vastness of the city. Presently Marianna caught sight of Armando coming from the companion way with his poor little valise, which she knew contained all his worldly goods. What if she defied her aunt, and cast her fortunes at once with him? No. She could not add to his burden. But need she do so? Could she not rather be a help? Toil had been ever her lot. She could not remember when she had not worked away her days--until, until Aunt Carolina had taken her up, had provided her with fine clothes, and made her live like a signora. No matter; she would rather be poor and work for Armando. But New York! That great monster crouching there in its Sunday nap, and sending lazy curls of steaming breath from its thousands of snouts! It was that they would have to dare--to fight that!