“It’s a racial weakness,” exclaimed Quentin. “They are all liars.”
“You, who are an Andalusian, must not say that.”
“I? Never. I am a Northerner. From London, Windsor.... Why did I ever come here?”
María Lucena, her little friend, and her mother came in. The Swiss and Don Gil bowed to them.
“You must defend the Andalusians,” said Springer to the actress; “for Quentin is turning them inside out.”
“What’s he here for, then?” inquired María bitterly.
“That’s just what I was saying,” added Quentin. “What did I come to this city for?”
“I know what all this sadness comes from,” said María Lucena in Quentin’s ear.
“Do you? Well, I’m glad.”
“You saw your cousin yesterday; the one with a face that looks as if she had a sour stomach. They say that she can’t yet console herself for her former sweetheart’s leaving her. That’s why she is so sad.”