“It is not worth while, Cousin,” said Ernesto, folding up the paper and casting a furious glance at Juliana.
“What do you mean? Why, it is charming!” said Donna Felicidade.
Juliana placed on the table the plate of biscuits, the oeiras cakes, and the cocoanut bonbons.
“Senhor Counsellor,” said Luiza, “here is your tea,—a little weak, as you like it. Julião, help yourself. Hand the biscuits to Julião,” she said to Juliana.
And with her sleeve slightly turned up, her white arm exposed to view, she inquired, taking the sugar-spoon in her hand, “Who wants more sugar? Senhor Counsellor, a biscuit?”
“A thousand thanks, dear Senhora,” he responded, bowing. “I have already helped myself.” And turning to Ernesto, he declared that he found the style of his work admirable.
“But what more does the director want, now that he has his salon?” they demanded on all sides.
Ernesto, standing up, a bonbon between his fingers, said with animation,—
“He wants the husband to pardon his wife.”
There was a movement of astonishment.