Then she translated the letter aloud. Aunt Maria listened with a firm and
almost stern aspect, like one who sees some justice done, but not enough.

"He doesn't beg your pardon," she said at the close of the reading.

Clara, supposing that she was expected to laugh, and not seeing the point
of the joke, stared in amazement.

"But probably he is in a meeker mood now," continued Aunt Maria. "By this
time it is to be hoped that he sees his past conduct in a proper light.
The letter was written three months ago."

"Three months ago," repeated Clara. "Yes, it has taken all that time to
come. How long will it take me to go there? How shall I go?"

"We will see," said Aunt Maria, with the air of one who holds the fates in
her hand, and doesn't mean to open it till she gets ready. She was by no
means satisfied as yet that this grandfather Muñoz was a proper person to
be intrusted with the destinies of a young lady. In refusing to let his
daughter select her own husband, he had shown a very squinting and
incomplete perception of the rights of woman.

"Old reprobate!" thought Aunt Maria. "Probably he has got gouty with his
vices, and wants to be nursed. I fancy I see him getting Clara without
going on his sore marrow-bones and begging pardon of gods and women."

"Of course I must go," continued Clara, unsuspicious of her aunt's
reflections. "At all events he will support me. Besides, he is now the
head of my family."