"Yes, you."
"Oh!"
"It is just three years ago. At that period I was only a child, scarce fourteen: there is, consequently, nothing extraordinary in your having forgotten me. At that period you sang your inevitable romance of Don Rodrigo, of which I will say no harm, however," she added, with an enchanting smile, "because I recognised you by that song. My father, now governor and political chief of Sonora, was at that time only a colonel."
The Spaniard struck his forehead.
"I remember," he exclaimed. "You were going from Guadalajara to Tepic, when I had the pleasure of meeting you in the middle of the night."
"Yes."
"That is it. Let me see, your father's name is Don Sebastian Guerrero, and yours—"
"Well, and mine?" she said, with a pretty challenging pout.
"Yours, señorita," he said gallantly, "is Doña Angela. What other name could you bear?"
"Come," she said, clapping her dainty hands together with a ringing laugh, "I am glad to see that you have a better memory than I believed."