XXVIII
The arrival of the mails, and the visit of the M⸺s, had accumulated a great deal to do in my father’s study. We worked steadily all the next day, but when we were with the family in the dining-room, María’s smiles made me sweet promises for the hour of rest; in their strength I could go cheerfully to the most wearisome labor.
At eight in the evening I went with my father to his bedroom, and responding to my usual goodnight, he added, “We have accomplished something, but there is still much to be done; so, then, early tomorrow morning.”
On such days as this María was always waiting for me in the evening, talking with Emma and my mother in the parlor, reading to the latter a chapter of the Imitation or teaching the children prayers.
“Did you see your friend this morning?” she asked.
“Yes; why do you ask that now?”
“Because I have not been able to ask it before.”
“And why are you interested in knowing?”
“Did he ask you to return his visit?”
“Yes.”
“And you are going to, aren’t you?”
“Certainly.”
“He is very fond of you, isn’t he?”
“I have always believed so.”
“And you still believe it?”
“Why not?”
“Are you as fond of him as when you were together in college?”
“Yes; but what makes you talk about this today?”
“It is because I want you always to be his friend, and hope he will keep on being yours. But you didn’t tell him anything?”
“Anything of what?”
“Why, of that.”
“What do you mean by ‘that’?”
“You know what I mean. You didn’t tell him, did you?”
“This is the first time I ever failed to understand you.”
“Oh, goodness! of course you understand. It is if you told him about what …”
As I sat looking at her, while she smiled at me in an almost childish eagerness, she continued, “Very well; you need not tell me now.”
She began to build little towers with backgammon-counters, with which we were playing.
“If you don’t look at me,” I said, “I will not confess to you what I told Carlos.”
“Well, then, let’s see; now tell,” she replied, trying to do what I asked.
“I told him everything.”
“Oh, no, not everything?”
“Did I do wrong?”
“As if you could. But, then, why didn’t you tell him before he came?”
“My father did not want me to.”
“I know; but then he would not have come, and wouldn’t that have been better?”
“Undoubtedly, but I could not do it; and now he is satisfied that I did not.”
“He will keep on, then, being your friend?”
“There is no reason why he should not.”
“True, and I do not want him just for this—”
“Carlos will thank you as much as I do for that.”
“So you parted as usual? And he went away happy?”
“As happy as he could be under the circumstances.”
“Then I was not to blame, was I?”
“No, María, and he will not think the less of you for what you have done.”
“If he truly cares for you it ought to be so.”
“But mamma is going,” she added, “and Emma is falling asleep. It’s time now, isn’t it?”
“Must you go?”
“And what am I going to do? Will you have to write so much tomorrow?”
“Very likely.”
“And when Tránsito comes?”
“When is she coming?”
“At twelve; so she sent word.”
“By that time we shall have finished. Goodbye till tomorrow.”
She took leave of me with the same words, but was surprised that I kept the handkerchief which was in the hand she gave me to press. María did not understand that this scented handkerchief was my treasure for a whole night.