"PABLO."
Eulogia could not resist that letter. Her scruples vanished, and, after an entire day of agonized composition, she sent these lines:—
"You can come back to San Luis Obispo.
"EULOGIA AMATA FRANCISCA GUADALUPE CARILLO."
VI
Another year had passed. No answer had come from Pablo Ignestria. Nor had he returned to San Luis Obispo. Two months after Eulogia had sent her letter, she received one from Graciosa La Cruz, containing the information that Ignestria had married the invalid girl whose love for him had been the talk of Monterey for many years. And Eulogia? Her flirtations had earned her far and wide the title of Doña Coquetta, and she was cooler, calmer, and more audacious than ever.
"Dost thou never intend to marry?" demanded Doña Pomposa one day, as she stood over the kitchen stove stirring red peppers into a saucepan full of lard.
Eulogia was sitting on the table swinging her small feet. "Why do you wish me to marry? I am well enough as I am. Was Elena Castañares so happy with the man who was mad for her that I should hasten to be a neglected wife? Poor my Elena! Four years, and then consumption and death. Three children and an indifferent husband, who was dying of love when he could not get her."
"Thou thinkest of unhappy marriages because thou hast just heard of
Elena's death. But there are many others."
"Did you hear of the present she left her mother?"