Dr. Tomás. [Approaching.] Come, girl, what nonsense is this?
Inés. [Sits down on sofa R., the rest stand around her.] Nothing. It's nothing—it is only—I feel I would like to laugh, and tears instantly rise to my eyes—and then I want to cry, and I feel so glad, so happy that I cannot. It is because I am fond, very fond of you, father. [Embraces him affectionately.] How kind you are, and how good God has made you! I am happy, very happy. [Throws herself sobbingly into her mother's arms.]
Doña Ángela. That's it, my girl, weep. It will do you good. See how kind your father is. You must love him dearly.
Inés. With all my heart. When are you going? To-day? Is it not so?
Dr. Tomás. [Laughing at her fond assurances.] Ah, selfish girl! We are very fond of papa when he does something to please us? But if he did not go to the duchess's, should we be quite so fond of him—quite!—as now?
Inés. Just the same.
Dr. Tomás. [Doubtingly.] Quite the same?
Inés. [Maliciously.] It is possible I should be so sad that I might not think of saying it.
Dr. Tomás. I thought so.
Inés. Before, I felt something weigh upon my breast, and choke me. Now, without any effort—thus—spontaneously—as delicious tears of happiness flow—endearing words break from me. Before, I was only able to say: 'unhappy I, father!' Now, I don't think of myself, I think of him, and my heart rises to my lips upon a cry of love—'how dear you are to me!' [Again embraces her father.]