"You will understand, my dear Utrilla," said Miguel, becoming serious, "that this is a very delicate matter, and that I have no right to mix myself up in your affairs."
"The trouble is," rejoined the ex-cadet, with a sigh, "with the passionate nature which God gave me, I sent her a letter to-day, telling her that if she persisted in her conduct, she would do me the favor never to write to me again, ... and I am afraid that she is really offended."
"I am afraid," said Miguel, laughing, "that your command will be fulfilled to the letter."
The cadet remained for several moments pensive and gloomy. Then shaking himself from his melancholy stupor, and passing his hand over his forehead, he said:—
"By the way, Don Miguel, you have not washed your hands."
Rivera looked at him in surprise.
"One always gets dirty in the factory," continued the cadet. "Here is a bowl and soap for you."
"Thank you; my hands are not dirty."
But Utrilla at the same time offered him a china bowl filled with clear water, and the soap-dish, in such a way that Miguel rather than appear the enemy of cleanliness yielded and washed his hands. The soap was strongly scented with orange.
"Do you know this soap is very fine and pleasant?" said Rivera, so as to say something.