"Well—it——"
He hesitated, knowing not how to confess his absurdity, how to own up to the enormous, unpardonable stupidity of being poor. At last he made up his mind to speak, wounded by the questions of Alicia, who by no means understood his uncertainty.
"You know, I—forgive me, but—I haven't got money enough," said he.
"What a boy you are!" she answered. "Why, you don't need hardly any, at all. Haven't you even got, say, two hundred pesetas?"
"Two hundred pesetas!" stammered Enrique, horror-stricken. "No, no, I haven't."
"Well, a hundred, then?"
"No."
"All right. Come, tell me. How much have you got?"
Enrique would have gladly died. Gnawing his lips with desperation, he answered:
"I've hardly got ten left."