"Indeed?"
"He said it, and my father is not a man to waste his words. Don Carlos, I must win the señorita! I know of no other young woman who would be as acceptable to my father as a daughter-in-law."
"A little wooing, Don Diego, I beg of you. Be not so matter-of-fact, I pray."
"I have decided to woo as other men, though it no doubt will be much of a bore. How would you suggest that I start?"
"It is difficult to give advice in such a case," Don Carlos replied, trying desperately to remember how he had done it when he had courted Doña Catalina. "A man really should be experienced, else be a man to whom such things come naturally."
"I fear I am neither," Don Diego said, sighing again and raising tired eyes to Don Carlos's face.
"It might be an excellent thing to regard the señorita as if you adored her. Say nothing about marriage at first, but speak rather of love. Try to talk in low, rich tones, and say those meaningless nothings in which a young woman can find a world of meaning. 'Tis a gentle art—saying one thing and meaning another."
"I fear that it is beyond me," Don Diego said. "Yet I must try, of course. I may see the señorita now?"
Don Carlos went to the doorway and called his wife and daughter, and the former smiled upon Don Diego in encouragement, and the latter smiled also, yet with fear and trembling. For she had given her heart to the unknown Señor Zorro, and could love no other man, and could not wed where she did not love, not even to save her father from poverty.
Don Diego conducted the señorita to a bench at one end of the veranda, and started to talk of things in general, plucking at the strings of his guitar as he did so, while Don Carlos and his wife removed themselves to the other end of the veranda and hoped that things would go well.