"I know it," said Doña Clara once more, with the same solemnity.
I felt even more constrained. Retamoso gave me several encouraging grins, and taking breath, I was able to go on:
"From then until now I can affirm that there has been nothing serious between us. I could not do otherwise, as I would never think of aspiring without the permission of her parents. But however this inclination may seem unexpected, when I embarked for Hamburg two months ago, I carried the thought with me, and the resolution to strengthen this dawning friendship——"
"I know it," once more said Doña Clara with even more solemnity, if that were possible.
I remained mute and confused, giving up my disclosures, which the supernatural penetration of this lady left useless. But I could not help admiring the singular contrast between these consorts—he knew nothing, she knew everything.
Retamoso gave me several mischievous winks, making me understand that this was to be expected and had nothing surprising in it. Doña Clara, at the end of a short silence, held herself up still more erect, and blowing her nose in a manner to inspire a monkey with awe, said:
"Before going farther, I beg you to let us continue the conversation in English. The subject is so serious and delicate that it demands it."
I profess and have always professed a great admiration for the language and literature of Great Britain. On the little book-shelf of my cabin voyaged always the "Tom Jones" of Fielding, the "Don Juan" of Byron, and certain books of Shakespeare. But, in spite of this admiration, I had never supposed that it was the only idiom in which grave and delicate subjects could be treated. I did not seek, however, to oppose this fine philological stroke, nor to discuss the preference that the stern mamma of Isabelita showed for one branch of the Indo-European languages over its sister tongues, and hastened to yield to her request. With this the surprise, delight, and grins of Retamoso reached a climax. He put his finger to his forehead, arched his eyebrows, opened his eyes absurdly, and several times when Doña Clara could not see, being turned towards me, he lifted his hands to heaven, murmuring unheard:
"What a woman! What a woman!"
Doña Clara, without being at all set up by this idolatrous worship, let me know in guttural and emphatic English that nothing of all I had said, done, or thought had been hid from her, and that she knew also all that had been said, done, or thought by her daughter Isabelita. This declaration filled my mind with a feeling of littleness and limitation that ended by humbling me. In the impossibility, then, of supplying any facts she did not know, or of uttering one thought worthy of the intellectual height of this lady, I took upon myself the role of calming down, submitting my feeble reasons beforehand to her own.