"At your feet, señorita," he said; "may I dare to beg the honour of the contradanza?"
She bent her slender body in a pretty courtesy. "It is a small favour to grant a guest who deigns to honour us with his presence."
He led her out, and when he was not gazing enraptured at the graceful swaying and gliding of her body, he managed to make a few conventional remarks.
"You did not like bull-fighting, señorita?"
"He watched me," she thought. "No, señor. I like nothing that is cruel."
"Those soft eyes could never be cruel. Ay, you are so beautiful, señorita."
"I am but a little country girl, señor. You must have seen far more beautiful women in the cities. Have you ever been in Monterey?"
"Yes, señorita, many times. I have seen all the beauties, even Doña Modeste Castro. Once, too—that was before the Americans came—I saw the Señorita Ysabel Herrera, a woman so beautiful that a man robbed a church and murdered a priest for her sake. But she was not so beautiful as you, señorita."
The blood throbbed in the girl's fair cheeks. "He must love me," she told herself, "to think me more beautiful than Ysabel Herrera. Joaquin says she was the handsomest woman that ever was seen."
"You compliment me, señor," she answered vaguely. "She had wonderful green eyes. So has the Señora Castro. Mine are only brown, like so many other girls'."