”Ñor deconocio,” said he, speaking in a low voice, so as not to be heard outside the tent, “I shall tell you all about it. You’ve seen my sister. Well, perhaps to you, whose countrywomen I have heard say are very fair-skinned, Lola may not appear much—”
I did not interrupt Calros to tell him how much.
“Here, among us Jarochos, though I, her brother, say it, Lolita is thought muy linda.”
“She would be thought so anywhere, I should say.”
“Well,” proceeded the conscript, apparently pleased at my remark, “good looks in a girl are sometimes only a misfortune to her—more especially if she be poor, and that is just what Lola is.”
“A misfortune! How?”
I put the question with a keener interest than the invalid suspected.
Had Lola been already the victim of a misfortune?
“You see, sir stranger,” rejoined Calros, “among those who have set their eyes upon ña Lola is this Ramon Rayas.”
“An old school-fellow of yours, is he not?”