Luiza turned scarlet.
“I neither can nor will bear it longer,” he continued. Then, prefixing the words with a short and somewhat violent expletive, he added, “And this for your own sake, for the sake of the neighbors, for the very commonest decency.”
“But—it was Juliana—” stammered Luiza, unable to add another word.
“Next time, put her outside the door,” returned Jorge, walking with long strides up and down the room. “Say you are not at home, that you have gone to China, that you are sick—”
Then he paused, and in a voice full of emotion,—
“Only consider, my dear child,” he said, “that every one is but too well acquainted with her reputation. The Quebraes! A byword! A shameless creature! As if the odor in the room were not enough for me to know that she has been here! That hateful odor of new-mown hay!” he continued. “You were school-fellows, it is true; but that will not prevent me from giving her a fright some day, if I should catch her here,—yes, a fright,” he repeated.
He was silent for a moment; then, turning to his wife with open arms, “Come, am I right, or not?” he said.
“Yes, you are right,” returned Luiza, confused and blushing, while she went on arranging her ornaments before the looking-glass.
“Very well, then,” he said, and left the room, furious.
Luiza remained standing before her glass, and a pearly tear rolled silently down her cheek.