"Yes, indeed! Behind a counter, selling cheese and codfish by the quarter pound, he would be invaluable. But as a man of business he is a good-for-nothing; it is only because I have taken the trouble to think for the two of us that we have been able to get where we are."
At this moment there appeared in the doorway a short stout man, of a pale complexion, bald, with small eyes, who greeted those present with a pronounced Galician accent.
"Good evening! How do you do?"
"Hola! Uncle Diego! How do you do, Retamoso?"
Doña Clara, caught in the act, turned her eyes again to her periodical, without abating an atom of her dignity.
Her husband, who, so far as could be seen, had heard nothing, shook hands with those about him, kissed his daughter, and coming over to his wife, said to her in affectionate tones:
"Don't read at night, wife! Now, you know you are trying your eyes."
Doña Clara took no notice. Retamoso, turning to the others, declared with profound conviction:
"She never can be idle. Isabelita, my daughter, entreat your mamma not to read! Now, you know that she does too much. When she is not reading, she is casting up accounts; when not casting up accounts, she goes down to the warehouse to make out bills; when not making out bills, she writes letters; when not writing letters, she speaks English with the Ricartes's governess. Hers is a wonderful head! I don't understand how she is able to do so many things in turn, without being either disturbed or fatigued."
I owe it to Doña Clara to say that she seemed suspicious of this panegyric, for instead of acknowledging it and showing herself gratified by it, she made the gesture of an offended queen.