«What I said, that's what you'll tell Kleomenis, Mrs. Smaroula!»
The woman he was addressing blinked slightly, exchanged a glance with the other woman, and then dared to take a step towards the angry man.
«Mr. Sarantis,» she began, trying to make her voice as sweet as possible, «I’m not saying you don’t have a thousand rights, but think about what you’re asking me to say to the poor lad! He’s an orphan, but honest and hardworking! He saw your Aristea, he liked her, and as an honorable man, he sent a match proposal! And note, Mr. Sarantis, that he hasn’t spoken to your girl! He only watched her from afar and his heart was burning...»
«Mrs. Smaroula, you won’t fool me with your sweet talk, and you know it! Your handsome lad, besides Aristea, also considered her dowry! So, if he wants my money, then for marriage we only have Myrsini! She is the eldest, she will marry first, I don’t change traditions!»
«Mr. Sarantis, the way you speak, one would think the eldest is also... an old maid! Your Myrsini is twenty-four years old and Aristea is twenty-two!»
«So what? Is she or isn’t she older?»
«Yes, but Aristea is more beautiful!» the matchmaker blurted out and then bit her tongue.
«And what does beauty have to do with marriage? Myrsini is accomplished, a housekeeper, and sensible! Strong and healthy to bear him children!»
«But he wants Aristea! He doesn’t like Myrsini, what can we do now?» the matchmaker complained, now exasperated. «You speak too, Mrs. Barbara! They’re your girls as well!»
She shouldn’t have said that, but realized it when it was already too late. The man’s fist landed on the table with more force this time, and whatever treats remained standing followed the example of the cherry syrup.