this;" and Margarita's jealousy again got the
better of her sympathy. "Good enough for her. No more than she deserved.
An honest fellow like Alessandro, that would make a good husband for any
girl!" Margarita's short-lived remorse was over. She was an enemy again.

It was an odd thing, how identical were Margarita's and the Senora's
view and interpretation of the situation. The Senora looking at it from
above, and Margarita looking at it from below, each was sure, and they
were both equally sure, that it could be nothing more nor less than a
disgraceful intrigue. Mistress and maid were alike incapable either of
conjecturing or of believing the truth.

As ill luck would have it,--or was it good luck?--Felipe also had
witnessed the scene in the garden-walk. Hearing voices, he had looked
out of his window, and, almost doubting the evidence of his senses, had
seen his mother violently dragging Ramona by the arm,--Ramona pale, but
strangely placid; his mother with rage and fury in her white face. The
sight told its own tale to Felipe. Smiting his forehead with his hand,
he groaned out: "Fool that I was, to let her be surprised; she has come
on them unawares; now she will never, never forgive it!" And Felipe
threw himself on his bed, to think what should be done. Presently he
heard his mother's voice, still agitated, calling his name. He remained
silent, sure she would soon seek him in his room. When she entered, and,
seeing him on the bed, came swiftly towards him, saying, "Felipe, dear,
are you ill?" he replied in a feeble voice, "No, mother, only tired a
little to-night;" and as she bent over him, anxious, alarmed, he threw
his arms around her neck and kissed her warmly. "Mother mia!" he said
passionately, "what should I do without you?" The caress, the loving
words, acted like oil on the troubled waters. They restored the Senora
as nothing else could. What mattered anything, so long as she had her
adoring and adorable son! And she would not speak to him, now that he
was so tired, of this disgraceful and vexing matter of Alessandro. It
could wait till morning. She would send him his supper in his room, and
he would not miss Ramona, perhaps.

"I will send your supper here, Felipe," she said; "you must not
overdo; you have been walking too much. Lie still." And kissing him
affectionately, she went to the dining-room, where Margarita, vainly
trying to look as if nothing had happened, was standing, ready to serve
supper. Whe