"Don't mind what this foolish fellow says."
They were by this time in the Park, and Utrilla's profile was growing
more and more distinct in the clear and delicious atmosphere slightly
warmed by the sun.
Maximina walked along, and gazed with a mixture of surprise and awe at
the throng of gentlemen and ladies passing her, and impudently staring
at her face and dress with that haughty, inquisitorial look which the
Madrilenos are accustomed to assume as they pass each other. And she
even imagined that she heard remarks made about her behind her back:--
"That is a costly dress, yes, indeed! but that child does not have any
style about wearing it! She looks like a little saint from the country."
This did not offend her, because she was perfectly convinced of her
insignificance by the side of such a _gran senor_ and _senora_; but it
made her a little homesick not to see a single friendly face, and she
half clung to her husband's side as if to seek shelter from the vague
and unfair hostility which she saw around her.
But as she glanced at him she saw that he too was walking along with a
haughty frown, and that his face showed the same scornful indifference
and the same bored expression with all the others. And her heart all the
more sank within her, because she was not as yet aware that the
sentiment in vogue in Madrid is hate, and that even if it is not felt,
it is the thing to pretend to show it, at least in public.
But it was not to be expected that our heroine should as yet have become
versed in all these refinements of modern civilization.
After they had walked around the Park several times, Miguel said to his
sister:--
"See here, Julita, why hasn't Utrilla joined us, now that mamma isn't
with us?"
"Because I do not wish it," replied Julita, quick as a flash and with
great decision.
"And why don't you wish it?"
"Because I don't!"