"That is a costly dress, yes, indeed! but that child does not have any style about wearing it! She looks like a little saint from the country."
This did not offend her, because she was perfectly convinced of her insignificance by the side of such a gran señor and señora; but it made her a little homesick not to see a single friendly face, and she half clung to her husband's side as if to seek shelter from the vague and unfair hostility which she saw around her.
But as she glanced at him she saw that he too was walking along with a haughty frown, and that his face showed the same scornful indifference and the same bored expression with all the others. And her heart all the more sank within her, because she was not as yet aware that the sentiment in vogue in Madrid is hate, and that even if it is not felt, it is the thing to pretend to show it, at least in public.
But it was not to be expected that our heroine should as yet have become versed in all these refinements of modern civilization.
After they had walked around the Park several times, Miguel said to his sister:—
"See here, Julita, why hasn't Utrilla joined us, now that mamma isn't with us?"
"Because I do not wish it," replied Julita, quick as a flash and with great decision.
"And why don't you wish it?"
"Because I don't!"
Miguel looked at her a moment, with a quizzical expression, and said:—