"And the steamer that you are commanding—does she go to America?"
"Only once in a while. Usually we run between Barcelona and Hamburg."
"And your stop here is for several days?"
"Just long enough to repair the damages from a little fire on board, day before yesterday."
On my part, I asked how long they proposed to remained in Gijon.
"We had been thinking of leaving the day after to-morrow and stopping some days in Madrid, where we expected to meet my husband; but now it is necessary to postpone going on account of what has happened. At all events, as soon as my mother has completely recovered herself and the doctor gives permission, we shall start."
I must confess it although it may seem ridiculous—that "my husband" produced a strange sensation of chill and discouragement in me that I could scarcely succeed in hiding. How the devil had it not occurred to me that the young lady might be married? I cannot account for it to this day. And conceding it to be the case, why should the information cause such a bitter emotion when it concerned a person whom I was only just beginning to be acquainted with? I cannot account for that either. I am tempted to believe in the truth of what happens in the old comedies when the gallant is fired with love at first sight of the lady. If I was not on fire, at least I had on board all the materials for the fire.
Nevertheless, reason soon asserted its supremacy. I comprehended the absurdity and the ridiculous character of my sensations, and, calming myself, I asked about her husband with natural and friendly interest. She told me that he was called Emilio Martí, and was one of the partners in the shipping house of Castell and Martí, whose steamers run to Liverpool. Moreover, he had various other lines of business, for he was an active and enterprising man. They had been married only two years.
"And you have no family?"
"Not as yet," she responded, blushing slightly.