Manolo. Better. I am worried now about Paca; the shock was too much in her condition—I suppose she has told you? How are you? You seem depressed, you have been crying. Is it this news about Julio? Has your mother heard the talk about his going to America?
Luisa. Yes, it is no longer news to us. I was trying to persuade him to give it up, before he speaks to her. Don't you think it is madness?
Manolo. I hardly know what to say. It seems foolish, but then it is only the natural consequence of other foolishness. Foolishness is endemic, like misfortunes in my family. When he told me, to be honest with you, I was at a loss what to say. I make up my mind to emigrate pretty nearly every day. Our house is not home; this is not living. Ah, my dear cousin, you proved you had sense when you declined to marry me!
Luisa. Don't be silly again.
Manolo. Silly? Never again. We showed judgment, or rather you did. Apparently I was beyond all salvation.
Luisa. You mustn't say that. Paquita is kind; she is much more sympathetic than I am, more capable. Her disposition is better suited to putting up with annoyances. I admire the placid spirit in which she accepts everything.
Manolo. Yes, Paquita is very kind, I cannot deny it; and so am I, very. Together we make a model couple. And the boys, too, are something wonderful! However, with two saints and so many angels in the house, it may not be exactly hell, but it is a respectable little purgatory, to say the least. I assure you that if Julio could spend a week with us, he would be cured permanently. As it is, a cousin of Paca's came last year and stayed a week, and this year we hear that he has entered the church, and is saying mass. Has Julio come back from the office?
