“But why, then, since they are most beautiful? You know well, Mariquita,
you yourself said they were like the handwork of fairies, and her
shoulders—”
“Be silent, foolish one, or I shall have to burn your nose off with the
warming-pan!”
“And what did the elder ladies say to the young lady’s new maids?” I asked
quickly, as great eyes began to flash, and scarlet lips to pout.
Back came the smiles, and the maidens fell into a fit of schoolgirl
giggling.
“There was but one Majesty there, praise be to the saints, the English
one, who is no doubt the mother of our lady angel. They have two rooms
between them, but that of the señorita is tiny, with no door of its own,
and only a square glazed hole for a window, though the bed is as good as
any, and we have given it the best linen. When we took in the warming-pan,
our angel tried to say in Spanish that she was sure our beds were dry and
well aired, as indeed they were. She had taken off her bodice, and was
undoing her hair, which was so beautiful we could have fallen down and
prayed to her as a saint. Then we could not resist, but began helping her
to undress, talking about her beauty. She was not offended, though we
kissed her hands, and that silly Micaela one of her tiny white feet when
we had pulled off the stocking—”
“Now you are as bad as I was, Mariquita.”
“No, indeed; what is a stocking? A thing it is as well to go without as to
wear. That is different. The angel laughed till she was close to tears,
and said we were far nicer maids than the one her mother had sent on by
railway train in starting by automobile. After this, she would be spoiled
for others; and she gave us each one a present. Lola, two wondrous hatpins
with blue stones in silver—not that she would ever suffer the tortures of
a hat, but it is a great thing to have them. Teresa, a sweet round purse
of blue leather, of the size to hold a five peseta piece; Micaela, a
handkerchief with lace on the edge, and me an embroidered veil like a
gossamer. What did we care that Her Majesty the mother would have sent us
away if she could? She had not enough Spanish to make us understand what
we did not wish to understand, and at last she saved her breath for
another day. But by that time we had finished, for we had put our angel
into her night-dress, a thing of cobwebs and lace kept together by blue
ribbons, which I should have thought good enough for a queen to wear when
mounting her throne.”
“You must show us your presents,” said I, with deliberate cunning. All
were displayed on the instant, with chattering, laughing, and clamourous
claims for rival merits. But the veil was the thing which I looked on to
covet. She had worn it one day after rain, when the roads had been clear
of dust, and her face had gleamed through the lace as a star gleams
through a floating cloud-film. I felt that I could not see it in other
hands than mine.
While the Cherub compared the gifts with eloquence, I drew Mariquita
apart. “I want that veil very much,” said I; “so much that I’ll give you a
hundred pesetas if you’ll part with it.”
She opened her tobacco-brown eyes. “But the señor is only a man, and
cannot know that the bit of embroidered net is worth no more, in money,
than fifteen pesetas at most.”
“It wasn’t its money-worth I was thinking about.”
“A—ah, I see! The señorito—yes, of course, it would be strange if he did
not! I love my new veil, not only because it is pretty, but more because
it came to me from the most beautiful señorita I have ever seen. Still,
since the señorito will value it even more than I can, I will give it to
him, though not for the hundred pesetas. I will give it for nothing except
his thanks.”
I told the girl she was too good; that I could not rob her of the gift
just made; but she insisted, and I saw that her pride would be hurt if I
refused. So I accepted, while a way of benefitting myself and rewarding
her occurred to my mind.
“You see how it is with me.” I said, with a confidential air. “You have
been very generous. Will you be helpful too?”
“You may trust me,” she answered. “I love a love affair, especially if
there is difficulty. I shall have an acknowledged _novio_ myself soon, I
hope. He is a bull-fighter—only a beginner, but he will be great one day,
and though my father made a long face at first, now he shrugs his
shoulders; and when that is done, there is always hope. Her Majesty the
mother makes the long face, does she not?”