father!—that brainless scholar! an atheist clothed in sanctity! a new Don Quixote minus wit and plus pedantry! a mock Bayard of honour! What sort of father is he who pretends to a reputation for virtue through his daughter's broken heart? A fig for such virtue! Vice itself is more lovable. No one comes, and the hours go by—ah, I hear somebody coming at last.
SCENE II
Edward and the Duchess, who enters R.
Edward. How is Inés, mother? Has she regained consciousness?
Duchess. She has now, thank God. Poor child! I could not go until I was assured it was all right, and that she was better. And you, my son?
Edward. I must see her.
Duchess. Edward!
Edward. Then we have to talk to Don Lorenzo, and afterwards
Duchess. Afterwards you will get to the end of my patience. I have done all for you that honour, dignity, and social convention permit—even more. But the moment has come for you to show yourself a man, to remember who you are and listen to the voice of duty.
Edward. Rightly said, mother, that is what I am prepared to do, but it remains to be seen if we entertain the same idea of duty.
Duchess. You must give Inés up.
Edward. Why? Because of her poverty?
Duchess. By no means.
Edward. Then why, mother? Because Don Lorenzo
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