“It is true that she married; but it was not because she wished it, nor because she was ambitious to be rich, but because the family made her.”
“You should laugh at that idea, my friend!” replied the Countess. “Not that the girl isn’t docile! When a woman does not care to marry a man, she simply doesn’t marry him.... Of course, you were after her cash.”
“I?—Ca!”
“I don’t know why, but I think I see through you. You are very ambitious, and with all those foolish deeds of yours, you are only trying to fish for something. You cannot deceive me.”
“Well, you are wrong,” said Quentin. “I, ambitious? I covet nothing.”
“Tell that to your grandfather, not to me. You are very ambitious, and she is a very romantic damsel, but very close with her money. If you two had married, a fine disappointment you would have had!... And she liked you, believe me; but as you were not a marquis, or a duke, but a poor son of a shop-keeper, she would have nothing to do with you.”
Quentin felt deeply mortified by the phrase, and fell silent. Presently she burst into gracious laughter.
“What are you laughing at?” said Quentin, piqued.
“With all your boasting, you are worth less than I am: all your cravings are for things that are not worth while. I don’t mind it in the least when they call me La Aceitunera, but you, on the other hand, are utterly cast down because I called you the son of a shop-keeper.”