She had never had less of it, perhaps, than in her aunt's house; for the Countess Macomer was not only of her own race and name, and therefore too near to her to show her any such little formalities of respect, but had also, as a matter of policy and with considerable tact, managed to keep the dominant position in her own house.

She had shut out the little court of young friends who would very probably have gathered round her niece--acquaintances of Veronica's convent days, older than herself, but anxious enough to be called her friends--and the tribe of men, old and young, who, in the extremely complicated relationships of the Neapolitan nobility, claimed some right to be treated as cousins and connexions of the family.

All these Matilde had strenuously kept away, isolating Veronica as much as possible from young people of her own age, and proportionately diminishing both the girl's power to choose a husband for herself and her appreciation of her own right to make the choice.

Nevertheless, Veronica knew that she had that right, and she intended to exercise it.
Unconsciously, however, her judgment had been guided towards the selection of Bosio, so that she was now by no means so free an agent as she supposed herself to be.

She did not love him at all; but she liked him very much, and admired him, and since it was time for her to be married, she was strongly inclined to choose for her husband the only man of her acquaintance whom she both admired and liked.
These long and tedious explanations are necessary in order to explain how it came about that Veronica Serra, with her great position and vast estates, seriously thought of uniting herself with such a comparatively obscure personage as Count Bosio Macomer.