Felisa gave a shrill and merry laugh.
"People might see! Why, my good girl, don't you know that is just why we wear such gowns, that people may see? Come and fasten this thing. Isn't it lovely against my neck?"
Agueda could not but admit to her secret soul that it was lovely against Felisa's neck. But she coloured as she entered and closed the door carefully behind her. She had seen nothing like this, except in those abandoned picture papers that came sometimes from the States, or from France, to Don Beltran, and then, as often as not, she hid them that she might not see him looking at them. She could not bear to have him look at them. She felt—
"Open the door, that's a good girl! There! Are you sure that the catch is secure? These beauties were my aunt's. See how they become me. I would not lose them for the world. Oh! had I only had them before."
"Are—are—they—has the Señor given them perhaps—to—to—"
"Well, not exactly, Agueda, good girl; but some day, who knows—there!" Felisa made a pirouette and sank in a low curtsey on the bare floor, showing just the point of a pink satin toe. "See how they glitter, even in the light of these candles. Imagine them in a ball-room—Agueda, and me in them! Now I must go and show my cousin. Open the door. Do you not hear—open the—"
"The Señorita is never going to show herself to the Señor in such a gown as that! What will the Señor say? The Señorita will never—"
But Felisa had pushed past Agueda, and was half-way down the veranda.