Luisa. If you are not congenial, it will not be through lack of opportunity to become acquainted.
Adelaida. All that you can know, my dear, is little enough when it comes to a man. One does hear such stories. Only to-day, General Borrego's widow was telling me about a young girl, the daughter of some intimate friends, who came back to her parents after she had been married two months, because her husband, a young man of excellent family—they mentioned no names, but I can find out from Galán, he has inside information—well, her husband just spoiled her. And you must have heard, too, about the Molineros, who have been carrying on in the newspapers, and had their pictures published in a triangle, with the corespondent included, all taken together in the same group?
Carmen. We scarcely have time to keep up with the society news nowadays.
Paquita and Manolo enter at the rear.
Luisa. Here come Paquita and Manolo.
Carmen. Good evening.
Manolo. Good evening, aunt. How do you do, Luisita? Adelaida… Where are Cristóbal and Galán?
Adelaida. They will be here directly. Hello, Paquita. How are you?
Paquita. Quite wretched, thank you; I am fading away. Apparently my husband is resigned to my death.
Manolo. Don't say that, my dear. They might believe you.
Paquita. It is true, just the same. You know the doctors agree that I will die if I live in Madrid long enough; they advised you to take me to the suburbs, or to hurry and find a suitable place in the country before it was too late.
Manolo. But I have to find the suburb or the country that agrees with you first. Where did we go last summer? You know yourself that we only held out four days.
