Ricardo did not reply.
"Come, let me go; you see I must hurry and carry the broth to mamma."
Ricardo still blinded her eyes from behind without saying a word.
"For pity's sake let me go, Ricardo! It isn't fair, after I have told who you were."
"In punishment for your not taking the joke gracefully, I won't let you go," said Ricardo, still clasping her eyes.
"All right, then; I admit that it's perfectly fair."
"Ah, that's another thing! if you submit, I will let you go. But you must pay a forfeit."
Marta, as soon as she found herself free, ran behind him with uplifted broom, so that he could not get hold of her; thereupon she went back and again began her task of brushing up the dining-room. She had not dressed for the day. She wore a loose red gown somewhat the worse for wear, and her hair was put up in a white redicilla. But there was one very strange thing about this girl; in an old morning dress, sometimes even ripped, and with her hair in disorder, she was prettier than when she put on her fine clothes. It may have been because her peculiar style of beauty was not best brought out by rich and splendid dresses as her sister's was, or because she was not used to wearing them (for it was rare for her to put on those which were bought for her), so that she appeared awkward and constrained when she went out; but at all events, on the street and at the theatre, Marta certainly attracted little attention, and remained entirely overshadowed by her sister's proud and splendid beauty. On the other hand, at home her graces were greatly increased; her motions were easy and unembarrassed; her eyes gained brilliancy and animation, and her whole body acquired a freedom which it lost as soon as she set foot in the street.
She swept without haste, firmly and easily, like one who always expects to finish in time, and she kept humming a march[26] very softly. She had no voice for singing or any great love for music, and all the exertions of her teachers and her liking for study struggled with this lack of musical ability. The masterpieces of music, and even the fantasías, réveries, and nocturnes, which Maria played on the piano left her cold and incapable of understanding their worth. On the other hand, she confessed with shame that certain operatic airs and many popular songs delighted her. Another thing she did not confess, though it was no less true: the bands which sometimes accompany funerals, and are, as a general rule, of the very worst sort, composed almost entirely of brass instruments, moved her deeply, even to tears. She almost never sang, but she was apt to hum softly when she was doing any work as now. From time to time she stopped to take breath, leaning for a moment on her broom, and after brushing back one or two curls which fell on her forehead, she went on with her task.