Portugal's head lifted when he heard the familiar voice. "Espanha!" He said, noding over in the direction of the woman. "Boa Tardes, amiga! I hope tome has been good to you, though it matters not in this game we call life. Still, I hope the game is as pleasant as possible." 

Portugal knew Spain well, the two grew up together as next door neighbors. As kids, they fluxated between mild arguments, to violent fights. When they got older, they mellowed out, and Portugal no longer bore ill will to her. "IF you are interested, I just got a stock of port wine", he pitched to her "we can talk price later, come come, tell us how you have been". When Britain raised her criticisms, Portugal gave a sharp glare, saying no words, but most definatly getting his point to her. 

Britain, it was her who ruined the trade routes, it was she who monopolized Africa and the Americas. It was she who dominated Asia with Opium, she was the reason for his decline. And the product of her colonialism, America, further responsible. Portugal need not speak, she would know just what he had to say.