as
sympathetic. I knew that Donna Ignazia had told her all, and as she was
no restraint on me I did not mind her being at supper, while Ignazia
looked upon her as a safeguard.

The table had been laid for three, when I heard a step coming up the
stairs. It was the father, and I asked him to sup with us. Don Diego was
a pleasant man, as I have said, but what amused me most of all about him
was his moral maxims. He knew or suspected that I was fond of his
daughter, though in an honourable way; he thought my honour or his
daughter's piety would be a sufficient safeguard. If he had suspected
what had really happened, I do not think he would ever have allowed us to
be together.

He sat beside his niece and facing his daughter, and did most of the
talking, for your Spaniard, though grave, is eloquent, and fond of
hearing the fine harmonies of his native tongue.

It was very hot, so I asked him to take off his waistcoat, and to tell
his daughter to do just as she would if only he and his wife had been
present.

Donna Ignazia had not to be entreated long before she took off her
kerchief, but the poor cousin did not like having to shew us her bones
and swarthy skin.

Donna Ignazia told her father how much she had enjoyed herself, and how
they had seen the Duchess of Villadorias, who had asked me to come and
see her.

The good man began to philosophise and to jest on her malady, and he told
me some stories, germane to the question, which the girls pretended not
to understand.

The good wine of La Mancha kept us at table till a late hour, and the
time seemed to pass very quickly. Don Diego told his niece that she could
sleep with his daughter, in the room we were in, as the bed was big
enough for two. I hastened to add that if the ladies would do so I should
be delighted; but Donna Ignazia blushed and said it would not do, as the
room was only separated from mine by a glass door. At this I smiled at
Don Diego, who proceeded to harangue his daughter in a manner which
amused me extremely. He told her that I was at least twenty years older
than herself, and that in suspecting me she had committed a greater sin
than if she allowed me to take some slight liberty.

"I am sure," he added, "that when you go to confession next Sunday you
will forget to accuse yourself of having wrongfully suspected Don Jaime
of a dishonourable action."

Donna Ignazia looked at me affectionately, asked my pardon, and said she
would do whatever