"He would have to be careful, for I should be quite equal to poisoning him."
"Goodness! what a horror!" exclaimed the three nereids, laughing.
So that hypothetical husband, that abstract being, figured as constantly in conversation as if he were of flesh and blood, and lived in the next house.
The daughter now playing the piano was Emilita, the most musical of the four sisters. The other three were standing, each hanging on the arm of a young man.
The count crossed the room to Fernanda-Rosa, who was arm-in-arm with a girl friend. She did not seem to care for the dancing, albeit she was a young lady renowned in the town for her beauty, elegance, and fortune. She was the only daughter of Don Juan Estrada-Rosa, the richest banker and merchant of the province. Tall, moderately stout, with a dark complexion, regular, striking features, large, very black, scornful looking eyes, and a graceful figure, embellished by the elegant toilettes, that were the despair and envy of all the girls of the town, she did not look as if she belonged to the place, but as if she had been transported from one of the most aristocratic court salons.
"How charming you are looking, Fernanda!" exclaimed the count, in a low voice, with a bow of admiration.
The beauty scarcely deigned to smile, but made a little scornful pout.
"How do you do, Luis?" she said, giving him her hand with marked displeasure.
"Not so well as you are, but I am pretty well."
"Only pretty well? I am sorry. I am perfectly well—you have not forgotten me, then?" she returned in the same displeased tone, without looking him in the face.