Peyton led the way within, and the young people, standing in the long living room which extended across the entire front of the house, uttered varying exclamations of delight.
“It’s just the sort of a room one sees on the screen when the home of a Spanish Don is being pictured, isn’t it?” Margaret said. “The original owners were Spanish, were they not?”
“Yes,” Peyton replied, “Don Carlos Spinoza was a wealthy Spaniard, who became a political outlaw during one of the frequent uprisings in Mexico City. He remained in hiding with his family in the mountains near here for some time and finally built this house. This interesting old furniture belonged to him. Later, when his friends were in power, he returned and rescued the family paintings and other treasures from their home in Mexico. However, after a year or two of isolation the Donna and their beautiful daughter became discontented and yearned once more for the gay life to which they had been accustomed. Don Carlos had many political enemies in Mexico, and so he had no desire to return. At last he sold this place for a small sum to Mr. Dartley and left for Spain.”
“Mrs. Dartley did not appreciate this mahogany furniture,” Virginia told them. “She often said she wished that she could make a bonfire of it all and buy some nice, new chairs that didn’t have carvings to catch the dust.”
“But she could not because the old furniture and family paintings were only left here temporarily, or so the story goes, but years have passed and no one has returned to claim them.”
Virginia smiled. “Poor Mrs. Dartley looked strangely out of place in the midst of all this grandeur. She was a dear and ever so kind hearted, but I often thought that the Dons and Donnas looking down from the walls must have wondered what had happened and how they chanced to be living with folk who dressed in gingham instead of silk. But they didn’t see her often, for this room was usually left in darkened solitude, for the Dartley family lived almost entirely in the kitchen.”
Suddenly Barbara inquired: “Betsy, why are you staring so hard at the painting of that grand old Donna? Does the picture fascinate you?”
Betsy laughed at them over her shoulder. “You know I have an active imagination,” she replied, “and so you will not be surprised to hear me say that I believe I have met this fine lady somewhere.”
“That would be impossible, my dear girl,” Margaret protested, “for that Donna could not possibly be living now.”
“I do believe that the lovely dark-eyed Senorita in this picture is her daughter,” Virginia said, “and here she is again older and with a little girl standing by her side and a beautiful dark-eyed baby boy on her lap. It really is too bad that the descendants of the Spinoza family cannot have these paintings in their gallery wherever they are. In Spain, I suppose, as they have never been heard from since they departed so long ago.”