"Ah," sighed Doña Prudencia, "I feared you would learn little from that frozen piece of flesh. I feared to set my hopes upon any interview with her, but there must be some one who knew the child, some one to whom he talked of his plans. We shall make inquiries in the pueblo of my Uncle Marcos."
"I shall make it my duty to go there myself," exclaimed Rodrigo. "I shall leave no stone unturned. Ah, she has el diablo en el cuerpo, that Pilar. I wish we might show her the contempt we feel."
"I shall wear no ornaments. If needs be I will promise to leave them off longer." Amparo's earnest little voice spoke up while she leaned over and patted Anita's hand.
"So grieved we are that you should encounter such rudeness in one of our compatriots," said Doña Prudencia, "but she is a low creature. Her mother was but a criada in the house of my grandfather and what can you expect? She has a head of wood and a heart of marble. She is nothing but a piece of furniture, not a woman at all." With these and other remarks did they try to console Mrs. Beltrán and Anita.
"How good you all are," exclaimed the latter. "And you, Rodrigo, I am sure you will find out something at the village. It is a happy thought to seek others more communicative than this disagreeable Pilar."
At the sound of drums, violins and tambourines, Amparo sprang to her feet. "The dance!" she cried. "Come, Anita; come, Rodrigo. It is the music of the jota that we hear. I must not miss a partner. You, Rodrigo, will dance with Anita."
It was with some misgivings that Anita took her place opposite Rodrigo in the long line. Amparo in her pretty peasant dress stood next her, having for her partner a graceful young countryman who danced like an angel, so Amparo whispered. "It is as it should be," she continued, "for Angel is his name." With Rodrigo to pilot her through in safety on the one side and Amparo to support her on the other, Anita managed fairly well. The lilt of the music crept into her blood and she finally was able to respond to it with the grace and enthusiasm of a true Spanish girl. Her eyes were shining, her lips and cheeks bright with color when the last strain died away.
"Ah, my cousin, you show your Spanish blood," said Rodrigo. "You love the dance, yes?"
"Oh, I do, I do, and I shall expect to do better each time. Will they have the jota again?"
"Oh, yes, again, and more than once. See now, this another not so pretty dance. Will you try it?"