fire; the daughter's were
half-hidden by down-drooping eyelids, and a slight bend of the head.
The little maiden's face and her whole personality had a curious
attraction for him in their tranquil meetings. Her hair was arranged
with scrupulous exactitude each day, in the very latest fashionable
style--a token of the convent-bred child's artless delight at being
allowed to share in the vanities of this carnal world. The little
dimpled hands, that sat so daintily on the trim wrists, were always
busy with some fancy work, which the bent head and the downcast eyes
followed intently. The eyes looked up when Mansana spoke to her, but
usually with a sidelong glance that yet did not quite avoid meeting
his; and through them peeped timidly the undeveloped childish soul,
half shy, half glad, but wholly curious to look upon this strange new
world and its strange creature, man. The more one tries to peer into
such veiled, down-drooping eyes, the more do they fascinate, since they
still withhold a part of their mystery. What her eyes held--and there
was often a roguish gleam in the corners--and in particular what
thoughts of himself they hid, Mansana would have given much to know.
And it was with the express purpose of breaking through her reserve
that he spoke of himself with more freedom than was at all customary
with him. It delighted him to see her cheeks dimpling as he talked, and
the pretty quiver, that never quite left the tiny mouth, red and sweet
as an unplucked berry. It pleased him still more when she began to talk
to him, in a voice whose fresh, unsullied ring stirred his senses like
the trill of birds on a glowing summer morning. Then she took to
questioning him, with bashful inquisitiveness, upon the details of his
approaching marriage. Her thoughts about engagements and honeymooning,
not openly expressed, but evident enough from the tenor of her eager
inquiries, seemed to him so charming that the engagement began to
regain its old attraction in his eyes. Thanks to her, some ten or
twelve days after Mansana's departure, Theresa actually received a
letter from him, which was followed by others. He was no master of the
pen, and his letters were as laconic as his talk; but he wrote
affectionately, and that again was due to his new friend. If he now sat
down regularly after breakfast to write to Theresa it was because
earlier in the morning he had enjoyed one of those frank conversations
with the girl; and with the fresh