“I wouldn’t say ugly, but it’s only meant to be worn locally, when going for a stroll around the neighborhood, in the evenings or at night. But in the city, for a lawyer, well, it hardly seems—”

“Don’t be so silly, sweetie!”

“It may be silly, but will you do it as a favor? Just for me?”

Conrado struck a match, lit his cigarette, and tried to change the subject with an affable wave of his hand, but his wife persisted, and her insistence, at first gently imploring, quickly became harsh and imperious. Conrado was shocked. He knew his wife; she was usually such a passive creature, sweet and gently amenable as the situation demanded, capable of wearing a bonnet, a wimple, or a royal tiara with the same divine indifference. The proof of this is that, having been part of a rather fast set during the two years before marrying, once she did marry, she quickly settled into homelier habits. She did go out from time to time, mainly at the behest of her husband, but she was only truly at ease in her own home. Furniture, curtains, and ornaments made up for the lack of children; she loved them like a mother, and such was the harmony between person and surroundings that she took particular pleasure in everything being in its proper place, the curtains hanging in the same neat folds, and so on. For example, one of the three windows that gave onto the street was always left half open, and it was always the same one. Even her husband’s study did not escape her fastidious demands, for she carefully maintained, and at times restored, his books, so that they were always in the same state of disorder. Her mental habits were equally uniform. Mariana possessed very few ideas and read only the same books again and again: Macedo’s Moreninha, seven times; Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe and The Pirate, ten times each; Le Mot de l’Énigme by Madame Craven, eleven times.