“Were you—living there?” (Rogelio did not venture to say at service.)
“Yes, Señor, ever since I came from the old land.”
“Ah, you are a Galician, then?”
“There is no reason why I should be ashamed of it.”
“Nor I either, caramba!”
“No, Señor, no indeed. It is a very good country, better than Madrid or than any other place in the world.”
Rogelio smiled, pleased with the girl’s patriotism, and beginning to feel at home with her, for she seemed to him incapable of ridiculing any one. They were now near the house; Martin, who had gone on in advance, stopped his hack, a task which was easier than to make him start, and at the door stood Doña Aurora, making signs to her son.
V.
“Mamma, here is some one with a love-letter for you.”
“Who? This girl?”