Jo Ann grinned. “Only a real artist could have performed that miracle. I don’t care much about the pretty part, though. All I want is to pass muster under Dr. Blackwell’s inspection.”
“You will—don’t worry.”
Dressed in fresh dainty frocks, the three girls were waiting on the balcony when Dr. Blackwell drove up in the car to take them to Señor Rodriguez’s.
Since Florence had told her about the Señor’s beautiful patio, Jo Ann gazed eagerly about when they entered the cool, spacious corridor of his house. The mosaic tiles of the floor seemed to her to reflect all the bright colors of the flowers in the beds beyond and of the potted plants clustered about the stone pillars which supported the graceful arches of the court.
The servant immediately ushered them into the sala or drawing room, a room of immense size and well-proportioned lines. Several large mirrors in heavy, gold-leaf frames, she noted, filled much of the wall space and gave the room the appearance of even greater size. The full-length double windows next caught and held her attention, curtained as they were with exquisite hand-made lace, which contrasted strangely with the iron bars.
The next moment their host and his wife entered: Señora Rodriguez, short, plump, and motherly, and the Señor, tall and distinguished-looking.
At first glance Jo Ann’s hopes sank. How could she ask this austere, dignified gentleman all of the questions which had been uppermost in her mind? Was the visit she had looked forward to with so much pleasure going to be in vain? Since the introductions were in Spanish, she felt a little ill at ease—all the more so when she saw Señora Rodriguez kiss Florence, first on one cheek, then on the other, and pat her on the back.
“If she kisses and pats me that enthusiastically on my sunburned skin, I’ll be sure to flinch,” she told herself.
The next moment Señor Rodriguez turned to her and, smiling, asked in broken English, “Are you de young lady who speak de Spanish?”
“Oh, no, señor, I can’t speak Spanish,” she answered timidly.