Dr. Tomás. Well, to be serious. Given the condition of the young lady, her nervous temperament, her extreme susceptibility, and her romantic passion, the malady must be regarded as grave. And if you don't very speedily seek a remedy in the sweet security of marriage, my friend, I am grieved to say it, but duty compels me to inform you, that you need not count upon Inés. [Gravely.]
Don Lorenzo. Tomás!
Doña Ángela. You really believe
Dr. Tomás. I believe that Inés has inherited her father's excitable and fantastical imagination. To-day the fever of love runs like a fiery wave in her veins. If you don't marry her to Edward,—and that very soon—and she should be given to understand that her hopes are not destined to be realised, though I cannot predict in what way, I unhappily know that the delirium of fantasy, and the violence of her affection will eventually kill her.
Don Lorenzo. Good God!
Doña Ángela. My poor child!
Dr. Tomás. You have my opinion, and I have given it in plain language as the urgency of the case demands, as well as my friendship for you, and our joint affection for the innocent child.
Doña Ángela. [To Don Lorenzo in a resolute tone.] You have heard? We must marry Inés to Edward.
Don Lorenzo. I would like it well indeed, Ángela. Edward is a good fellow, very intelligent, and passionately attached to our girl, but
Doña Ángela. But what? Are we not also noble, and why should Edward's mother, the Duchess of Almonte, oppose the union? And what matter if she does, since it is he, and not she, that is to be married?
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