You would not shut
the poor girl up in the convent!"
The Senora raised her eyebrows in astonishment. "Who spoke of
shutting up?" she said. "Ramona has already been there at school.
She might go again. She is not too old to learn. A change of scene
and occupation is the best possible cure for a girl who has a thing
of this sort to get over. Can you propose anything better, my son?
What would you advise?" And a third time the Senora paused for
an answer.
These pauses and direct questions of the Senora's were like
nothing in life so much as like that stage in a spider's processes
when, withdrawing a little way from a half-entangled victim,
which still supposes himself free, it rests from its weaving, and
watches the victim flutter. Subtle questions like these, assuming,
taking for granted as settled, much which had never been settled at
all, were among the best weapons in the Senora's armory. They
rarely failed her.
"Advise!" cried Felipe, excitedly. "Advise! This is what I advise --
to let Ramona and Alessandro marry. I can't help all you say about
our obligations.
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