Once, when she went to the window, she saw a young man pass by on horseback. He wasn’t English, but he made her think of Beatriz, whose husband had taken her off to the country due to his distrust of an Englishman, and she felt swelling within her a hatred of the entire masculine race—except, perhaps, for young men on horseback. To be honest, this one was far too affected for her taste; he stuck out his legs in the stirrups just to show off his boots, and rested one hand on his waist as if he were a mannequin. Mariana noted these two defects, but thought that his hat made up for them. Not that it was a top hat; it was a bowler, but entirely appropriate for equestrian purposes. It was not covering the head of a distinguished lawyer on his way to the office, but that of a man simply enjoying himself or passing the time.

The slow, leisurely click of Sofia’s heels came down the stairs. “Ready!” she said a moment later upon entering the drawing room. She really did look lovely. We already know she was tall. Her hat gave her an even more commanding air, and a devilish black silk dress, molding the curves of her bust, made her even more striking. Next to her, Mariana disappeared somewhat—one needed to look carefully to see that she did in fact have very pretty features, beautiful eyes, and a natural elegance. The worst of it was that Sofia instantly monopolized all attention, and if there were only a limited amount of time to observe them both, Sofia grabbed it all for herself. This remark would be incomplete if I did not add that Sofia was perfectly aware of her superiority, and for this very reason appreciated the charms of women like Mariana, because they were less obvious or effusive. If this is a flaw, it is not for me to correct it.

“Where are we going?” asked Mariana.

“Don’t be silly! We’re going for a little trip into town. Now, let’s see: I’m going to have my picture taken, then I’m going to the dentist. No, let’s go to the dentist first. Don’t you need to go to the dentist?”

“No.”

“Or have your picture taken?”

“I’ve got lots already. And why do you need a picture? To give to ‘you-know-who’?”