She was a woman destined for the hearth; to be seen going to and fro, arranging everything, directing everything; to be heard playing the piano in the afternoons. In a burst of frankness, Rafaela said:
“Had I listened to your hints, I should have made you unhappy without wishing to, and you would have made me miserable.”
“Then how is it that you are going to marry Juan de Dios?” asked Quentin brutally.
Rafaela was confused.
“That’s different,” she stammered; “in the first place, I have not decided yet; and besides, I have made my conditions. Then again, there is this great difference: Juan de Dios is not jealous of my past love affair ... he wants my title. [In this moment, Rafaela is sure that she is calumniating her betrothed in order to get out of her difficulty.] Moreover, my whole family is interested in my marrying him. If I do so, my grandfather, poor dear, will be easy in his mind; Remedios will be sure of being able to live according to her station,—and so shall I.”
“You are very discreet; too discreet—and calculating,” said Quentin bitterly.
“No; not too much so. What would happen to us girls otherwise?”
“What about me?”
“You?”
“Yes, me; I would work for you if you loved me.”