One morning my father seemed to be looking at her more intently than usual.
He finally said, "You're not feeling well; are you, Paula?"
"I'm all right, dear uncle," she said. "Sometimes I get a bit tired. I think it must be the heat."
"But, my dear child, you hardly eat anything at all, and you've lost those roses in your cheeks."
He still continued looking at her—then suddenly he said, "I'll tell you one thing that I think would please you very much. Do you know what that would be?"
"What, sir?" and Paula seemed to regain all her usual animation.
"I think," said my father slowly in a low voice as if talking to himself, "I think you"—and he paused a moment—"What would you say if you were to go to church with Celestina on Sundays?"
"Oh, dear uncle, could I really go?" Paula jumped to her feet excitedly.
"Yes, I think I'll let you go—and"—again he hesitated a bit—"if Teresa,
Rosa and Lisita wish to, they may go along too."
"And you, dear uncle, will you not come with us?" questioned Paula, as she looked into the sad, stern face that had softened considerably of late.
"We shall see, we shall see. But you'd better not count on me. My, oh, me!
Just see! Those roses have all come back again!"