‘Ah yes, yes. You have not seen my daughter, have you, señor? Julia—she rather resembles Estella.’
Señora Barenna paused and examined her fan with a careless air.
‘Some say,’ she went on, apparently with reluctance, ‘that Julia is—well—has some advantages over Estella. But I do not, of course. I admire Estella, excessively—oh yes, yes.’
And the señora’s dark eyes searched Sir John’s face. They might have found more in sculptured marble.
‘Do you know where she is?’ asked Sir John, almost bluntly. Like a workman who has mistaken his material, he was laying aside his finer conversational tools.
‘Well, I believe they arrive in Toledo this evening. I cannot think why. But with General Vincente one never knows. He is so pleasant, so playful—such a smile—but you know him. Well, they say in Spain that he is always where he is wanted. Ah!’ Madame paused and cast her eyes up to the ceiling, ‘what it is to be wanted somewhere, señor.’
And she gave him the benefit of one of her deepest sighs. Sir John mentally followed the direction of her glance, and wondered what the late Count thought about it.
‘Yes, I am deeply interested in Estella—as indeed is natural, for she is my niece. She has no mother, and the General has such absurd ideas. He thinks that a girl is capable of choosing a husband for herself. But to you—an Englishman—such an idea is naturally not astonishing. I am told that in your country it is the girls who actually propose marriage.’
‘Not in words, Madame—not more in England than elsewhere.’
‘Ah,’ said Madame, looking at him doubtfully, and thinking, despite herself, of Father Concha.