Antonio knew it, though. No disguise of decorous matronly garments or assumption of a demure manner could conceal from him Antonia's real girlish charm. One could see that by the way his string-seated chair edged imperceptibly nearer hers, and by the ingenious manner in which, without seeming to do so, he yet managed to watch her every motion.
It was at this juncture that a happy thought occurred to the padre.
Would it be possible for the Man to do a sketch—just the smallest jotting—of Antonia, as a memento of the occasion?
"Of course it would," agreed the Man. "And of Antonio, too!"
At this the lips that Antonia had been trying so hard to keep prim broke apart in irrepressible giggles and her hand slipped up to see if her rebellious hair was smooth enough to do her credit. And Antonio straightened his shoulders and gave a furtive twist to the ends of his moustache.
The light was fading, and the chairs had to be placed—close enough together to satisfy even Antonio's desires—near by the open door; just outside which a row of children had already secured front places to view the show.
The sketch was necessarily hurried, even perfunctory, but it gave immense satisfaction.
"Oh! Look at Antonio," Antonia gurgled joyously. "See his moustache! Is it not fine?"
"It is like the moustache of an officer of carabineros," said Antonio, feeling it to see if it were actually more imposing than he had thought. "If I really look like that I ought to be a Minister of State; but—I prefer to be the husband of Antonia!"