Nancy first and last

by Amy Ella Blanchard

Anita went back to her mother with this information, and from that afternoon they watched each day for the appearance of the two violinists. The young man always strode along with his head in the air. He was broad-shouldered, free of motion, athletic. "Like our boys at home who live out of doors," remarked Mrs. Beltrán. "I'd like to know him."

"I like the uncle's looks, too," returned Anita. "He has such a humorous face, and such kind eyes. I met him one day face to face. He dresses like an Englishman but he looks like an American. I wonder if they could be Americans."

"Oh, no, I hardly think so," Mrs. Beltrán replied. "They would scarcely be here so often if they were, and the boy is so like an English lad with that waving brown hair and that fair skin."

This special conversation was interrupted by a message from Miss Harriet Perley. Wouldn't they come down into the garden and have tea? Mr. Ivanovitch was going to show them how they drank tea in Russia.

So down they went into the little garden where a table was spread. Miss Ralston was there in an æsthetically colored, flimsy, and rather soiled tea gown. The Misses Perley, Miss Harriet and Miss Agatha, were attired in girlish costumes which admitted of a fine display of lace collars, clinking chains and ornate rings. They were both giggling with excitement, their voices, already tremulous with age, betokening the place of their birth. They gave a sharp accent to every other word, and both talked at once. Mr. Ivanovitch presided at the samovar. He had provided the feast of fruit, cakes and preserved strawberries. This last, he told them, they were to take in their tea. While they were watching operations they were joined by the student, Manuel Machorro, who seated himself in close proximity to Miss Ralston's æsthetic skirts, yet cast languishing glances across the table at Anita. The ladies received their tea in cups, the men in glasses. Each was directed to try the combination of preserves in tea. The young Russian dropped his sinister expression for the moment and seemed quite human, Anita whispered to her mother. Don Manuel hummed Spanish love songs, breaking out once in a while with some ardent line.

It was a pleasant little party and all came to be on more friendly footing because of it. Anita, interested in the Spanish songs, asked if Don Manuel played guitar or mandolin. He played both and upon persuasion went into the house to get his mandolin.

He sat down upon a stone bench opposite Anita on his return, and directed his song to her. It was something about a white dove and a clavel and all that.

Anita was charmed. "Does one ever hear a serenade nowadays?" she asked.

Don Manuel fixed his dark eyes upon her while he strummed softly. "One does not often, but one can," he told her. "It is a beautiful custom, not so, señorita?"

"It is, yes, it is very beautiful. I should like above all things to hear a serenade," she admitted. Don Manuel changed the air he was playing to a more seductive strain, and still bent his gaze upon Anita. Miss Ralston moved uneasily and leaned her elbows on the table so as to intercept Don Manuel's view of the younger girl. She did not like the laurels snatched from her brows, the brows of the one and only American of the household, for the Misses Perley proclaimed themselves purely cosmopolitan because of a residence abroad of seven years. Just now they were engaged in a conversation upon laces with Mrs. Beltrán. Did she know good laces? Would she give her opinion upon some they had just bought? They were making a collection. So far they had found the best in Antwerp. They had been cheated in Venice, but they had found a little shop in Antwerp, a little shop near the cathedral, and so on.