Her dress, which was charmingly simple, consisted of a dressing gown of white cashmere, embroidered with large silk flowers in bright colours, and fastened round the hips by a cord and tassels. A Mechlin lace veil was carelessly thrown over her shoulders, while her feet were thrust into pink slippers, lined with swan's-down.
Doña Conchita was smoking a tiny husk cigarette, while talking to her father.
"Yes, father," she said, "a ship has arrived to day from Buenos Aires, with the prettiest birds in the world."
"Well, little one?"
"I fancy that my dear little father," she remarked, with an adorable pout, "is not at all gallant this evening."
"What do you know about it, young lady?" Don Valentine replied with a smile.
"No, have you really," she said, bounding with delight in her chair, and clapping her hands, "thought of—"
"Buying you some birds? You will tomorrow see your aviary stocked with parrots, Bengalis, macaws, hummingbirds, in short, about four hundred specimens, you ungrateful little chit."
"Oh, how good you are, father, and how I love you," the girl replied, throwing her arms round Don Valentine's neck, and embracing him several times.
"Enough, enough, madcap. Do you want to stifle me with your caresses?"