Pepita has left off mourning, and now appears, more lovely and attractive than ever, in the lighter fabrics appropriate to the season, which is almost summer. She still dresses, however, with extreme simplicity.
I cherish the hope that my father will not now detain me here beyond the end of this month at farthest. In June we shall both join you in the city, and you shall then see how, far from Pepita, to whom I am indifferent, and who will remember me neither kindly nor unkindly, I shall have the pleasure of embracing you, and attaining at last to the happiness of being ordained.
“Pepita Jiménez.” Juan Valera.
IF SHE COULD ONLY WRITE.
“Please write me a letter, Holy Sir.”
—“To Robin, I suppose?”
“You know because one evening dark
To startle us you chose,—
But on my soul ...”—“No more, a pen
And paper, daughter, give: