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It was a duty of his profession; artists must go into society. And as for taking her with him some other time. He had to go alone this time, he had to talk to a great many people at the theater. Another change took place in him that provoked joyful comments on the part of Milita. Papa was getting young.
Sometimes she was tormented with delirium, and her daughter, holding back her tears, approved of the extravagant trips she planned, of her proposals to go far away to live with Milita in a garden, where they would find no men; where there were no painters no painters. She lived about two weeks. Renovales, with cruel selfishness, was anxious to rest, complaining of this abnormal existence.
"And Milita? Did you see her?" continued Renovales with a good-natured smile that had not lost its playfulness. "Didn't she 'kid' you, for wearing that dazzling new tie?" Soldevilla smiled too. He had been in the dining-room with Doña Josephina and Milita and the latter had made fun of him as usual.
Milita pretended to be absorbed in examining the studio which she had not entered for a long time. "Look!" she exclaimed. "Why, it's mamma!" She looked at the picture with astonishment, but the master seemed pleased at the readiness with which she had recognized her. At last, his daughter! The instinct of blood!
He's a good boy; I could almost give him my blessing. But I suspect that when the sensation of novelty has worn off, he will go back to his fads and poor Milita will be jealous of those machines that are eating up the greater part of his fortune." Sometimes, before the light died out in the afternoon, Renovales excused his model, if he had one, and laying aside his brushes went out of the studio.
Was she going to wear the same gowns, the same hats, the same ornaments for an endless length of time, more than twelve months? Horrible! That was too commonplace. And overcome at the thought of such a monstrosity, she began to shed her tender tears to the great disturbance of the master. "There, there, Milita, there's no use in crying. What do you want? Money?
They greeted each other, the father inquired for Milita, they smiled with the sympathy of two good fellows and each went back to his group; the son-in-law to his club-mates in a box, still wearing the dress suits of the respectable gatherings from which they came the painter to the orchestra seats with the long-haired young fellows who were his escort.
His wife seemed to grow more sickly every day; her daughter was growing up and he wanted his Milita to have the education and the luxuries of a princess. They now had a respectable house of their own, but he wanted something better for them.
'A military officer, said Mark. 'Confound you for a ridiculous fellow! cried Martin, laughing heartily in spite of himself. 'What military officer? You know they spring up in every field. 'As thick as scarecrows in England, sir, interposed Mark, 'which is a sort of milita themselves, being entirely coat and wescoat, with a stick inside. Ha, ha! Don't mind me, sir; it's my way sometimes.
No one remembered now the nickname "Pickled Herring." The master Renovales did things well. He had only one daughter and he was eager to marry her with royal pomp; eager that Madrid and all Spain should know of the affair, that a ray of the glory her father had won might fall on Milita. The list of gifts was long.
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