"Ah!" Don Torribio muttered, to say something, for he understood that he had a rival before him.
Doña Concha, carelessly reclining on a sofa, anxiously followed the conversation, while playing with a fan that trembled in her hand.
"I hope, sir," Don Torribio said courteously, "that we shall renew here the imperfect friendship commenced in Madame de Lucenay's salons."
"Unluckily," Don Valentine interrupted, in order to prevent Don Sylvio answering, "Señor d'Arenal will be unable to accept your kind invitation, for immediately after his marriage he intends to travel with his wife, since that is the fashion nowadays."
"His marriage!" Don Torribio said, with perfectly well-played astonishment.
"Were you ignorant of it?"
"Yes."
"What a careless fellow I am! My happiness makes me lose my head. I am like these two children, but pray excuse me."
"Sir!"
"Certainly; for are you not one of our best friends? we have no secrets from you. Don Sylvio d'Arenal is about to marry my daughter; the match has been arranged for a very long time."