As her mother took the pen to register, she turned to Anita and hesitated a little. "You will return to the Spanish name, won't you, mother?" said the girl.
Her mother nodded. "Yes, it is better so," she answered, and wrote: Doña Catalina Beltrán; Señorita Anita Beltrán, and from henceforth by these names they were known.
From Cadiz to Seville and on to Madrid they travelled, making inquiries at each city. In Madrid they established themselves for a time in a Casa de Huespedes, near the Puerta del Sol. "I feel as if we might stand a better chance of finding your brother here than in any other large city, unless it be Barcelona," said Mrs. Beltrán.
Anita looked out upon the moving crowds in the streets. "It will be like hunting a needle in a haystack, but I am glad of the excuse to stay here, even if we do not meet much encouragement. Madrid! The Prado! they are such magic words, like the Giralda at Seville, and the Alhambra at Granada. I must devote more time to study. I want to learn to speak Spanish perfectly. I am glad you have not forgotten it, mother."
"Oh, but I have forgotten much. I never knew it perfectly, enough for ordinary conversation, the names of commonplace things, perhaps."
"But with my father how did you manage?"
"He was more ready to learn English than I Spanish. He spoke two or three languages and was a true linguist."
Anita nodded thoughtfully. "That is why mamma said I had inherited the gift; I thought then that she meant I had inherited it from Mr. Loomis. I mean to keep my ears open and shall pick up all I can, shall chatter to the shopkeepers, study, read, and some day I shall be taken for a Spaniard."
Her mother smiled a little sadly. "That, too, is like your father; nothing was quite so good to him as a thing Spanish."
"Except yourself," retorted Anita.