"Señora, it is to me a regret that your ideal has been so misplaced."
"It is but one more link in that chain of disillusionment—my life. I suppose I should not complain. What does it matter?" Her words betokened a resignation which her glowing eyes did not verify.
The Captain moved his chair closer to her and took her hand.
"Señora, though disillusionment has passed me by, disappointment has not. Let us make common cause, and fight the battle of life together. Wounds quiver and smart in the past of both of us. Why not let the future in years of devotion each to the other, bring consoling balm to these wounds?"
Her hand remained in his, but she did not speak.
"Señora—Silvia—let us go away from here, and, in the quiet of home life, let time do its work in scattering into forgetfulness the ashes of old heartburnings."
"And what of my lost ideal, Alfredo?"
"Señora doña, theory is one thing, fact another; and life is fact. Why not accept things as they are?"
"Many would say you speak well. And yet—rather than sacrifice my ideal would I choose to sleep forever at the bottom of the sea."
"Señora, do you believe that ideals are ever realized in this world?"