e would make an excellent husband.

Josephina cut short her husband's chatter in a cold, contemptuous tone.

"I don't want any painters for my daughter; you know it. Her mother has
had enough of them."

Milita was going to marry Lopez de Sosa. The matter was already settled
as far as she was concerned. The boy had spoken to her and, assured of
her approval, would ask the father.

"But does she love him? Do you think, Josephina, that these things can
be arranged to suit you?"

"Yes, she loves him; she is suited and wants to be married. Besides she
is your daughter; she would accept the other man just as readily. What
she wants is freedom, to get away from her mother, not to live in the
unhappy atmosphere of my ill health. She doesn't say so, she doesn't
even know that she thinks it, but I see through her."

And as if, while she spoke of her daughter, she could not maintain the
coldness she had toward her husband, she raised her hand to her eyes,
to wipe away the silent tears.

Renovales had recourse to rudeness in order to get out of the
difficulty. It was all nonsense; an invention of her diseased mind. She
ought to think of getting well and nothing else. What was she crying
for! Did she want to marry her daughter to that automobile enthusiast?
Well, get him. She did not want to? Well, let the girl stay at home.

She was the one who had charge; no one was hindering her. Have the
marriage as soon as possible? He was a mere cipher, and there was no
reason for asking his advice. But steady, shucks! He had to work; he had
to go out. And when he saw Josephina leaving the studio to weep
somewhere else, he gave a snort of satisfaction, glad to have escaped
from this difficult scene so successfully.

Lopez de Sosa was all right. An excellent boy! Or anyone else. He did
not have time to give to such matters. Other things occupied his
attention.

He accepted his future son-in-law, and for several evenings he stayed at
home to lend a sort of patriarchal air to the family parties. Milita and
her betrothed talked at one end of the drawing-room. Cotoner, in the
full bliss of digestion, strove with his jests to bring a faint smile to
the face of the master's wife, but she stayed in the corner, shivering
with cold. Renovales, in a smoking jacket, read the papers, soothed by
the charming atmosphere of his quiet home. If the countess could only
see him!

One night the Alberca woman's name was mentioned in the drawing-room.