"Yes, a very good young man, and a friend of papa's, called Rafael Alcantara."
The lady looked inquiringly at Pinedo, who gave her an expressive glance. Not knowing what it could mean, but supposing that her friend for some reason did not wish her to speak of Alcantara as he deserved, she held her tongue. The young man as he passed them greeted them half respectfully, half familiarly. Pinedo immediately held out his hand to take leave.
"This is Saturday you remember," said the lady. "Are you coming to dinner?"
"With much pleasure. My regards to Osorio."
"And bring this dear little girl with you."
"We will see, we will see," replied the official again, much embarrassed. "If I cannot manage it to-day, some other time."
"You must manage it, tyrant father. Au revoir then, my dear."
She took the girl by the chin, and kissed her on both cheeks, saying as she did so: "I have long wished to make your acquaintance. I sadly want some nice pretty girls in my drawing-room."
And as she walked on, in better spirits than ever, she said to herself: "What on earth can Pinedo be driving at by making a saint of that good-for-nothing Alcantara?"
With a light step, a colour in her cheeks, and her eyes sparkling as they had done in her girlhood, she soon reached the gate of the large garden in which her father's house stood. The porter hastened to open it and rang the house-bell. She went in, and, contrary to her usual custom, she smiled at the two servants in livery, who awaited her at the top of the stairs. She went by them in silence, and straight on to her stepmother's rooms, like one who has long been familiar with the place.