The major-domo was showing me to a small room, when a girl, merrily humming a popular Royalist song, came tripping along the corridor. Suddenly she stopped, looked hard at me, and then came forward again, saying, "Juan! Surely you are Juan Crawford?"
I have sometimes laughed since at my stupidity, yet there might be found some excuse for it. During my absence from Lima I had often thought of my little playmate, but it had never occurred to me that time would change her as well as myself. And now, instead of the merry child with whom I had romped and played, there appeared a beautiful girl at whom I gazed in wonder.
"Are you not Juan Crawford?" she asked again, speaking softly.
"Yes," said I, "I am Juan; but you, señorita?"
Her face rippled with merry laughter; but pouting her lips, she said,—
"What a poor compliment to your old friend, Juan! Surely you have not forgotten Rosa!"
"Nay, that have I not; I have forgotten nothing. But you are so changed, Rosa—so different!"
"So are you; but I knew you at once. When did you come home? Have you come to see me?"
"Yes, and your father as well. I have some business with him."
"Oh!" cried she, tossing her head and frowning, "of course you and he are on the same side. My father is a Patriot now, and cries, 'Down with the king!' I suppose your meddlesome general has sent you with a message."