“That’s old stuff,” replied another. “Schopenhauer said long ago that it’s fools who are most successful with women.”
“I wonder where he got this Englishwoman.”
“That ingle woman![1] He must have got her out of his groin!” suggested a callow youth, who was learning how to write farces.
“Ugh! These cheap jokes are enough to drive a man to drink!” cried several in chorus.
The talk drifted to other topics. Three days after this conversation Santín appeared at the café. He was welcomed with a noisy demonstration, spoons drumming against saucers. When the ovation had ended, they besieged him with the question:
“Who is that Englishwoman?”
“What Englishwoman?”
“That blond girl you’ve been out sporting with!”
“That’s my sweetheart; but she’s not English. She’s Polish. A girl whose acquaintance I made at the Museo. She gives lessons in French and English.”