There was a moment of dangerous silence; the voices of the young people
were growing fainter in the distance. Mrs. Brimmer's eyes, in the shadow
of her fan, were becoming faintly phosphorescent. Don Ramon's melancholy
face, which had grown graver in the last few moments, approached nearer
to her own.
"You are unhappy, Dona Barbara. The coming of this young cavalier, your
countryman, revives your anxiety for your home. You are thinking of this
husband who comes not. Is it not so?"
"I am thinking," said Mrs. Brimmer, with a sudden revulsion of solid
Boston middle-class propriety, shown as much in the dry New England
asperity of voice that stung even through her drawling of the Castilian
speech, as in anything she said,--"I am thinking that, unless Mr.
Brimmer comes soon, I and Miss Chubb shall have to abandon the
hospitality of your house, Don Ramon. Without looking upon myself as a
widow, or as indefinitely separated from Mr. Brimmer, the few words let
fall by Mr. Brace show me what might be the feelings of my countrymen
on the subject. However charming and considerate your hospitality has
been--and I do not deny that it has been MOST grateful to ME--I feel
I cannot continue to accept it in those equivocal circumstances.
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