"She is now eighteen," the fat suitor went on, ecstatically, "and
so altogether charming--But why waste time in pretty speeches? I
have decided to marry her."
De Castano plucked a heavily scented silk handkerchief from his
pocket and wiped a beading of moisture from his brow and upper
lip. He had a habit of perspiring when roused from his usual
lethargy.
"Rosa has a will of her own," guardedly ventured the stepmother.
Don Mario broke out, testily: "Naturally; so have we all. Now let
us speak plainly. You know me. I am a person of importance. I am
rich enough to afford what I want, and I pay well. You understand?
Well, then, you are Rosa's guardian and you can bend her to your
desires."
"If that were only so!" exclaimed the woman. "She and Esteban--
what children! What tempers!--Just like their father's! They have
never liked me; they disobey me at every opportunity; they
exercise the most diabolical ingenuity in making my life
miserable. They were to be their father's heirs, you know, and
they blame me for his death, for our poverty, and for all the
other misfortunes that have overtaken us. We live like cats and
dogs."
Don Mario had been drumming his fat fingers impatiently upon the
arm of his chair. Now he exclaimed:
"Your pardon, senora, but I am just now very little interested in
your domestic relations; they do not thrill me--as my own
prospective happiness does.
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