Manolo. I was serious.
Adelaida. Since we announced our engagement, I have not even passed through the street where he lives. More than once I have caught myself on the corner, but then I turned the other way. It may appear like undue modesty, but, praise God, I was brought up with principles. In this crisis, however, my brother feels it is my duty to fly to his side. Yet I should not be willing to trust myself with a maid. A respectable person ought to be present, so I thought of your mother, if she would be so kind as to come. It will be one of those favors that a woman never forgets.
Luisa. Adelaida, hardly that.
Adelaida. Ah, yes it will! These are occasions when one discovers one's friends. Now, take our neighbors on the second floor, for example. They have heard all about my bereavement, yet they have been pounding the piano all morning top-speed, without the slightest regard for the sound of the thing. What has become of your mamma?
Luisa. I thought she stopped at your house?
Adelaida. Now I remember I left her there.
Luisa. We might both go, then, and explain. Perhaps I had better come along.
Adelaida. I should appreciate it so much if you would. Ah, if we are only in time!
Luisa. Don't anticipate.
Adelaida. We might take a cab. I never could exhibit myself on the street after the flood of tears I have shed. While you talk to your mother, I can run up-stairs and change my dress. I am at my wit's end to know what to put on—a hat or a veil? Which do you think would be more appropriate?
Luisa. A hat, my dear, as yet. But hurry, or we may miss him.—I beg your pardon. With all this confusion, I
