By what fatality, thought Blythe, had the conversation turned upon that subject? “Oh, yes, Lolita,” he began lamely and then stopped. But something in his tone and in his embarrassed manner, a quick and suspicious look that he cast upon his companion, suddenly gave her an inspiration.
“Blythe Van Dorn,” she said, leaning towards him, “why were you late for supper?” There was mockery, a confidential sort of sympathy and amusement in her voice.
“Why do you ask?” he said, nervously digging holes with his stick. “I shouldn’t think you would be particularly interested after you have just refused me.”
Alison’s laugh rang out unaffectedly. “Now, look here, Blythe Van Dorn, don’t pretend any longer; you don’t have to. I am sure I don’t know why in the world you asked me that silly question a while ago, unless you had promised your mother you would, for you know perfectly well that you are not a bit cut up about my answer. Confess, are you?”
He remained silent for a minute. “You are the only girl about here that is worth having,” he remarked after the pause.
“That’s begging the question. I am not the only girl in the world. There’s—Lolita.”
Blythe threw away his stick. “That’s all nonsense. You know it is out of the question.”
“I don’t know anything of the kind. She is a dear sweet thing. She is not like those dreadful mixy people half Indians and half Spaniards or with a mixture of negro, Spanish and Indian, Mestizos, or Castigos or whatever they are. She is almost pure Spanish, she told me so. Her father’s people came from Spain, but being born in this country he is a Creole. Her mother’s father was a Mestizo, for his father was a Spaniard and his mother an Indian, though Lolita’s mother’s mother was a Mestizo who married a Spaniard, so you see except for that little drop of Indian blood she is Spanish, and who would hesitate to marry a Spaniard? She is so beautiful and has such a lovely disposition and such a good mind. Really, Blythe, I don’t wonder at you.”
“But consider how Mexicans are regarded by our countrymen,” said Blythe, denying nothing; “they are regarded almost as the negroes are.”
“That is because sometimes they intermarry with the negroes, but Lolita has no relatives but her father, not any at all, and you would not need to worry about that. I think it is very unusual and in this case very lucky, for she is proud and feels as we do about such things. You must have noticed how old Pedro, though he is on good terms with the ordinary greasers, holds himself a little aloof from them and never allows Lolita to go to fandangoes and such things. He is too poor to associate with the upper classes and too proud not to work at anything he can do. I think he is much pleased to live with us, for he is ambitious for Lolita and does not care to have her associate with those whose circumstances are similar. No, Blythe, you need have no reason to be ashamed of Lolita.”