“I fear the lady's foot is hurt,” said he.
“Is it?” exclaimed Don Mariano, going towards Mercedes. “Does it pain you baby?”
“Yes papa, a little. It burns me. Do you think it would be bad for me to walk to my room?”
“Of course it would,” Clarence said, and blushed redder yet at his temerity.
“Can you stand on your foot?” Victoriano asked.
“I don't know.”
“Don't try. I'll carry you to your room,” said her father.
“Women have no business to have such small feet. They are always stumbling and can't walk worth a cent,” said Victoriano, going to look at his sister's foot. “See here. No wonder they stumble. Look at the little slipper. Why don't they wear good broad boots?” So saying he took off the little slipper, which seemed made for a Cinderella.
“You are too absurd,” said Mercedes, blushing again, to see her slipper brandished aloft, in the face of a stranger.
“I ain't. It's women's feet that are absurd.”