“Well, Father, I have no better friend than you. I am so unfortunate that it is impossible for me to confide either in my father or my brother; we do not understand each other; there is a barrier—I do not know what. I believe that you already guess what I want to consult you about.”
The father smoothed his chin with his hand, as though in deep meditation.
“According to what you said to me, you marry in order to prevent greater evils. I believe that I have understood.”
“No, no, Father, it is not that. The evils that may occur here, I cannot now prevent. I have done all that I could; I have turned myself into a watchman, a police agent, a spy,—everything that one can turn one’s self into,—certainly a repugnant and sorrowful part to play. But I am convinced that it is impossible to protect a woman who will not protect herself, and that the whims of old men are harder to combat than those of children.”
My aunt hesitated a little.
“My papa,” she said, resolutely, at last, “is like a boy of fifteen. He is wild after that girl; blindly following her around, putting up with her mockery, and acting perfectly moon-struck if she makes a silly grimace at him. I should not mind it, if—at least—”
“You mean you would like to have him marry her?”
“Certainly. If the man who gave me being does not lose his soul, I shall feel resigned to all the rest. You know the trouble I had on Doña Andrea’s account. While she and my father lived—in that way—all I wanted was that they should get married. I should have my mother’s maid for a stepmother, but on the other hand papa would be living at peace with God. Doña Andrea is an unhappy being—believe me, she has a good heart. She has never shown the least disrespect for me, and has taken care of me with a real affection that I cannot describe to you. Only, she has no—what shall I say?—has no—”
“No moral sense.”
“That is it. She is naturally good, but she cannot discriminate between good and evil.”