“You’ve learned, even in this short time, to love Manaña in the way I love it,” Ronny said softly.
A pleasant silence ensued between the two friends, Ronny, gazing absently into the approaching twilight, seemed lost in reverie. Her finely-chiseled profile turned toward Marjorie gave her the look of a young Greek goddess, dispassionately viewing a world of her own ruling.
As the twilight merged into dusk and the first stars of evening lit their twinkling lamps, from underneath the balcony the musical beat of a guitar rose in rhythmic measure. Came a characteristic Spanish prelude, then an old Mexican love song floated out upon the rose-scented dusk, sung by a trio of golden-voiced Mexican boys.
“La serenata (the serenade),” Ronny murmured, “How dear in Father. He has asked Teresa’s sons to serenade us. They are singing a very old Mexican song called, ‘Mi novia.’ That means ‘my sweetheart.’”
Ronny became silent again with this brief explanation. The dulcet, mellow voices of the Mexican boys swelled enchantingly upon the stillness of the evening. Marjorie was sure she had never before listened to anything more tenderly romantic than the plaintive rise and fall of the old song. More than once she had heard from Ronny of the fine singing voices which were the natural heritage of the Spanish Mexicans.
The singers followed their tuneful offering with another old Spanish ballad which Ronny told Marjorie was called “The Love Tears.”
“Cuando de tu lado ausente,
Triste muy triste es mi vida!”
rose the high sweet tenor of Ricardo, Teresa’s oldest son.
“When thou art absent from my side,