"Aha, I think I find here the footprints of my little mouse, don't I, Cristina?"
She smiled assent.
"I suppose I'll be banished for picking at your bread, some day."
Then, as Martí turned to talk with Castell, I went up to the table carelessly and, pretending something else, contrived to get a morsel of the bread that Cristina had picked at, and ate it with inexplicable pleasure. This did not escape her, and I noticed that her face took on a slightly annoyed expression.
"Come, come to dinner, and everyone to his place!" she cried, with a pretty grimace of vexation.
I obeyed humbly, and seated myself in my accustomed place. The dinner was a gay one.
Martí was talkative and full of fun. As if he had not until then made enough of the beauties of his estate at Cabañal, he enlarged upon them with an enthusiasm that I had communicated to him on our walk. He ended by proposing that we should go there afternoons for picnics, since circumstances hindered the moving out altogether. It is needless to say with what delight I heard this proposition. Cristina welcomed it with pleasure, and also the others at the table. Sabas remarked, with his habitual gravity, that perhaps he should not be able to go every day.
"No; we know already that we need not count upon you. It would not do, would it—to throw over all business in the Plaza de la Reina and the Café del Siglo?" said his sister, laughing.
"It isn't that, my girl!" exclaimed the elegant creature, piqued. "You know that I am not particularly fond of rural amusements."
"Yes, yes, I know that you are one of the citified, and cannot breathe except in an atmosphere of tobacco smoke."