"That's she, without doubt. So the best thing you can do is to get strong enough to move into the sala, and then the owner of those grey eyes will amuse you better than I can."
"You don't admire grey eyes, you admire black ones, like my mother's or Eliza Puyrredon's; but I can tell you gray eyes are the most beautiful of all, if a sympathetic heart shines through them."
"You have studied them?"
"I have seen one pair which I shall never forget."
"And I also," said Evaña to himself; but he added aloud, "never mind about eyes just now, you can dream of them after you have taken your broth."
When Evaña covering him carefully up, left the room, Marcelino lay back on his pillows, thinking dreamily of those gray eyes that Evaña's talk had brought back to his recollection. He had never spoken a dozen words to the Inglesita, but she had listened attentively to what he had said to others; he had looked at her, had seen his own ideas reflected in her eyes, and those eyes had haunted him ever since.
Next morning at his usual hour Don Carlos Evaña was again at the Quinta de Don Alfonso. Marcelino's eyes brightened as he took his seat beside him after making enquiries about his progress.
"Never mind about me," he said, "I am twice as strong to-day; but tell me your news, I am sure it is good from your face."
"Good and bad, both; but I don't know whether we need think the bad bad."
"Then the bad first. What is it?"