"Modesta," from Carmelita to her maid who appeared in response to the tinkle of a bell, "some tea and dulces at once."
Without delay the refreshments appeared.
"Sugar, señora mia?" the young hostess holding up a delicate gold spoon. "Yes. And dulces? Modesta, take this to Señora Valentino. Have a care for her bandaged wrist."
"Mille gracias, little hostess mine." Then, sipping the tea and nibbling the cakes, "These are delicious after the ride, señorita doña."
"Have you come far, señora?"
"From the hacienda house of Señor Calderon, near San José pueblo. Merely a matter of two hours or so, but I seem to tire easily since my arm was injured. Still, what of it? Soon it is well and then forgotten. It is the way of unpleasant things, señorita. They slip away and we know them no more. Well, if it were otherwise, perhaps half of the world would be enemy to the other half."
She laughed merrily and the hostess politely joined.
"Yet, in forgetting the unfortunate incident I would not, if I could, forget the kindly ministrations of our dear friend Captain Morando. We were riding along in the romantic coolness of early dawn—absorbed in other things, you know—not noting or caring"—smiling knowingly into the other's face—"when that dreadful creature assailed me with its beak and claws." The señora turned away with a little shudder. Then, as if half absently: "But our soldier lad—how gently he cared for me. When I awakened—my head pillowed against his breast as a child lying close to its mother's heart." Starting up, "But, Carmelita mia, I must not distress you. I am an unworthy disciple of my own creed, for one minute I advocate forgetting troubles, then I straightway recount them; but then, you see," looking down, "my troubles in this particular were most sweetly intermingled." She laughed and immediately changed the subject. "When do you expect the señor your noble father to return?"
"I do not know the time of his return, señora."
"Has he gone far?"