Cherry had got used by this time in some degree to the Spanish eatables, and as he liked the universal chocolate and was as little fanciful as any one so much out of health could be, he got on as well as his bad appetite would let him, with the ollas and gazpachos spite of their garlic, and at any rate he liked omelettes and the bread, which was excellent. Their servant, Robertson, had, however, regarded everything Spanish with such horror, and had proved of so little use and so disagreeable, that Cheriton finally cut the knot by sending him back to Gibraltar, where he hoped to find a homeward-bound family, Alvar being certain that there would be sufficient attendance at his grandfather’s.
Conversation at dinner was difficult. They all understood a little English, which was rather more available than Cheriton’s Spanish, and Don Manoel spoke tolerably fluent French, to which, as Cheriton had in his time earned several French prizes, he ought to have been able to respond more readily than was perhaps the case. Cheriton did not mind seeing grapes and melons eaten after soup, though he thought the taste an odd one, but he could not quite reconcile himself to the universal smoking after the first course in the presence of the ladies. The young ones were very silent, though they cast speaking glances at him with their great languishing eyes; till after dinner the little girl, whom Cherry thought the softest and prettiest thing he had ever seen, produced a great blushing and tittering by whispering a question, which, while apparently reproving, Dona Carmen was evidently encouraging her to repeat to Alvar, who sat on her other side.
Alvar laughed and shook his head.
“No, Dolores; I think there is not one like him,” he said, adding to Cherry—“She wants to know if all Englishmen are like you—white and golden like the saints in the cathedral. It is true, she means the painted statues.”
“I am pale, because I have been ill,” said Cherry, in his best Spanish, and holding out his hand. “Little one, will you make friends? What shall I say to her, Alvar?”
But Dolores, with an ineffable expression of demure coquetry, retreated upon her sister, and would not accept his attentions, though she peeped at him under her long eye-lashes directly he turned away.
The family met at eleven for a sort of déjeuner à la fourchette, but every one had chocolate in their own rooms at any hour they pleased, with bread or sponge-cake, which they called pan del Rey. Alvar brought some on the next morning to Cheriton and while he was drinking it proceeded to enlighten him a little on the family affairs and habits.
“I perceive that the prayer-bell does not ring at half-past eight,” said Cherry smiling.
“No, the ladies all go to church every morning. In the country my grandfather is up early, and Manoel too, but here I cannot say—we meet at eleven. It is usual to write letters or transact business in the morning on account of the heat.”
“Does Don Manoel—is that what I ought to call him?—live here? Has he anything to do?”