No sooner had the street door closed behind him than Bazilio rose, and standing before Luiza with folded arms,—
“Who is that savage?” he exclaimed.
“He is a young doctor,” stammered Luiza, turning very red.
“But he is an impossible being! He has the air of a charity student.”
“Poor young man!” said Luiza, confused. “He is not rich, by any means.”
“It is not necessary that he should be rich,” replied Bazilio, “in order that he should brush his coat, and keep his hair and his nails in order.” She ought not to receive such a man, he said. He was a disgrace to the house. If he was according to her husband’s taste, let him receive him in his office.
He said all this taking long strides up and down the room, very much excited, jingling his money and his keys in his pockets.
“Fine specimens the friends of the family are!” he continued. “What the deuce! you were not brought up in this manner. People like that never came to the street of the Magdalena.”
This was true. Luiza confessed it to herself. She began to think that her marriage had brought her into contact with some plebeian acquaintances. But a certain respect for the opinions and the likings of Jorge made her say,—
“My husband thinks he has a great deal of ability.”