erself with him by
pouring out his rum-and-water and by rolling his cigarettes, an art in
which it appeared from her laughter and gestures that she thought him
awkward. She was in a state of feverish excitement, and kept darting off
to the wicket and back again.

Salve sat and smoked, and sipped his glass unconcernedly, whilst she
rocked herself backwards and forwards in a rocking-chair, with her head
thrown back, and her eyes steadily fixed upon him. He heard a sigh, and
she said in a low, ingratiating tone--

"I am afraid Federigo is unlucky."

Salve was not so stupid as not to comprehend her meaning. He was quite
aware that she was handsome as she sat there with her hand on her knee,
and her well-formed foot gracefully brought into view; but his feeling
was exclusively one of indignation that such a common Brazilian baggage
should presume to bring herself into comparison with Elizabeth. He flung
away his cigar impatiently, and went down into the garden, without
attempting to conceal his aversion. He hated all women since the one he
had fixed his heart on had disappointed him, and he strode backwards and
forwards now in more than usual indignation against the sex.

He was still pacing the garden when Federigo came back, heated and
triumphant, with his cloak on his shoulder and a bag under his arm.

"Nearly three hundred piastres!" he cried, clearing the garden in a
succession of bounds.

His sister had been asleep on the sofa, and sprang up in ecstasy at the
intelligence; and they proceeded then with childish glee to spread out
the silver on the table, and divide it into three. When Salve absolutely
refused to take more than his one piastre back again, there came
actually a look of humble admiration into the senorita's eyes. She could
not comprehend such an act of self-sacrifice, although she seemed to
vaguely feel that there was something noble about it. After a moment's
consideration she held out her hand and said--

"Senor, give me the piastre you have in your hand, and I will give you
another in return for it."

He did so, and she took it and kissed it repeatedly.

"I shall play with this one to-morrow evening," she cried joyfully, and
put it into her bosom.

She carried out her intention, and came home beaming, with a whole
bagful of piastres.

It seemed that the family lived only by play. The son, it is true, was
in connection with one or other of the political parties of the town,
with the prospec