"I wish we might meet them," returned Mrs. Beltrán thoughtfully. "There was something very attractive about that boy. I always felt that I would like Pepé to look like him."
Anita gave her mother a quick glance. "That is strange," she said, "for, do you know after we saw him kneeling there in the cathedral I had a faint glimmer of hope that he might really be Pepé."
"What a fantastic idea. That is a time when your imagination ran away with you, for we know his name is not Pepé, that it is Donald, that he has an Uncle Bruce, and that they are English. We know that without doubt."
"Oh, yes, of course I told myself it was absurd. We haven't by any chance an Uncle Bruce, have we, madre?"
"No, indeed. You have no uncle at all. My dear young brother died when I was still a little girl, and my baby sister I cannot remember, died before that. I have an old aunt living and several cousins."
"I should like some girl cousins, some one like Amparo. I could become very, very fond of Amparo. Have I any girl cousins, mother?"
"None very near, a second cousin at the most, the granddaughter of the aunt I was speaking of. Let me see—she must be about your age, a little older, maybe."
"I suppose we shall find it very shivery in England after our sunny Spain," remarked Anita, a little regretfully.
"Spring in England is chilly," Mrs. Beltrán was obliged to confess, "but we shall be in the south where it is much milder, and if we can find comfortable lodgings with an open grate I think we shall do. We should be able to find something at a moderate price now when it is out of the season."
"It is going to be a long journey," sighed Anita.