The tone was perhaps slightly defiant. It was as if Agueda had said, "What! Finding fault so soon?"
"Eet haave glaass obe' at dé ceety; Ah see eet w'en Ah obe' deyah."
Felisa started. The voice came from the corner of the room, which was concealed by the open door. She peered into the shadow, and faced the shriveled bit of brown flesh known as Juana.
Felisa laughed, as much at the words as at the speaker.
"Señ'it' t'ink Ah don' haave—yaas-been aat de ceety. Ah been aat ceety. Eet haave, yaas, peepul." The tone implied millions.
Felisa was standing in front of the dressing-table, taking the second long silver pin out of her hat.
"What does she say?" she asked through the hatpin which she held horizontally between her teeth. She removed the open straw, and ran the pins, one after the other, through the crown.
"She says that they have the glass—that is, the windows—at the city."
Still staring at Juana, Felisa seated herself upon the small white bed. Agueda pushed back the rose-coloured netting which hung balloon-like from the ceiling. A freshly knotted ribbon gathered its folds and held them together, thus keeping the interior free from the intrusion of annoying or dangerous insects.
Felisa reached down with one plump hand, and drew the ruffled skirt upward, disclosing a short little foot, which she held out toward Agueda. Agueda did not move. She looked at Felisa with a slight arch of the eyebrows, and moved toward the door.