"In truth I think I shall begin with love and end with hate, señorita. But that wisdom was not born in your little head; for sixteen years, I think, have not sped over it, no? It went in, if I mistake not, through those bright eyes."
"Yes, señor, that is true. I am not content to be just like other girls of sixteen. I want to know—to know. Have you ever read any books, señor?"
"Many." He looked at her with a lively interest now. "What ones have you read?"
"Only the beautiful romances of the Señor Dumas. I have seen no others, for there are not many books in San Luis. Have you read others?"
"A great many others. Two wonderful Spanish books—'Don Quixote de la
Mancha' and 'Gil Blas,' and the romances of Sir Waltere Scote—a man of
England, and some lives of famous men, señorita. A great man lent them
to me—the greatest of our Governors—Alvarado."
"And you will lend them to me?" cried Eulogia, forgetting her coquetry,
"I want to read them."
"Aha! Those cool eyes can flash. That even little voice can break in two. By the holy Evangelists, señorita, thou shalt have every book I possess."
"Will the Señorita Doña Eulogia favour us with a song?"
Don Carmelo was bowing before her, a guitar in his hand, his wrathful eyes fixed upon Don Pablo.
"Yes," said Eulogia.