“Ah! Don Lorenzo, you forget in that pompous title the meanness of my origin. You forget that I have now passed fourteen years in Spain, disavowed by my husband’s family, and existing upon a stipend barely sufficient for the support and education of my daughter. Nay, I have even been neglected by most of my own relations, who out of envy affect to doubt the reality of my marriage. My allowance being discontinued at my father-in-law’s death, I was reduced to the very brink of want. In this situation I was found by my sister, who amongst all her foibles possesses a warm, generous, and affectionate heart. She aided me with the little fortune which my father left her, persuaded me to visit Madrid, and has supported my child and myself since our quitting Murcia. Then consider not Antonia as descended from the Condé de la Cisternas: consider her as a poor and unprotected orphan, as the grandchild of the tradesman Torribio Dalfa, as the needy pensioner of that tradesman’s daughter. Reflect upon the difference between such a situation, and that of the nephew and heir of the potent Duke of Medina. I believe your intentions to be honourable; but as there are no hopes that your uncle will approve of the union, I foresee that the consequences of your attachment must be fatal to my child’s repose.”