Eudosia. Rather than change it, we have declined very flattering proposals.
Carolina. I am afraid that you have made a mistake. You remember that your brother was very anxious to see you married.
Paquita. He imagined that all men were like him, and deserved wives like us, our poor, dear brother! Who would ever have dreamed he could have been forgotten so soon? Fancy his emotions as he looks down on you from the skies.
Carolina. I do not believe for one moment that he has any regrets. If he had, then what would be the use of being in paradise? Don't you worry about me. The best thing that a young widow can do is marry at once. I was a very young widow.
Eudosia. You were twenty-nine.
Carolina. Twenty-six.
Eudosia. We concede you twenty-six. At all events, you were not a child—not to speak of the fact that no widow can be said to be a child.
Carolina. No more than a single woman can be said to be old. However, I fail to see that there would be any impropriety in my being present at the unveiling of the statue.
Eudosia. Do you realize that the premature death of your husband will be the subject of all the speakers? They will dwell on the bereavement which we have suffered through the loss of such an eminent man. How do you propose to take it? When people see you standing there, complacent and satisfied, alongside of that man, do you suppose they will ever believe that you are not reconciled?
Paquita. What will your husband do while they are extolling the genius of our brother, and he knows that he never had any?