ed that of her brother's, but with
Blanch and Bessie it was different. The strangeness and novelty of the
situation so different from anything they had hitherto experienced,
began to interest them in spite of their previous determination to be
bored. That evening they had visited the plaza with the Captain and Dick
Yankton and had witnessed the dances beneath the great _alamos_ or
poplar trees that surrounded the square, braving the risk of
contamination which Mrs. Forest had vainly protested would be sure to
ensue should they mingle with the populace--the Mexican-Indian rabble of
which it was composed--a distinction which only she and the Colonel
seemed able to divine, for had it been a garlic-tainted Egyptian or
Neapolitan mob, little objection would have been raised to their going.
The sights amused and interested them, and after an hour's mild
dissipation, they returned to the _Posada_ in time to meet a few of the
Senora's guests in the garden, among whom was Padre Antonio. The quaint,
inborn courtesy of the well-bred Spaniard was a revelation to them;
something they imagined did not exist outside of Spain.

The charm of the Padre's simple manner and ways proved no less
irresistible to them than to the rest of the world, and they marveled
that he spoke English so well. His intimate knowledge of the people and
the customs of the country threw a new light on them, reconciling the
girls to many things that had seemed incomprehensible.

The Senora, out of consideration for the ladies, by whose presence she
was greatly honored, had relinquished her rooms to them; the best and
most comfortably furnished which the _Posada_ afforded.

It was a late hour before the girls retired for the night. There was so
much to talk over, and when they did finally lay themselves down to
rest, it was with the conviction that Captain Forest was not quite so
mad as they had supposed. He was at least a harmless lunatic and in no
danger of running amuck.

As for Bessie, the gentle hand of sleep soon closed her eyes, and she
slept the sleep of a tired child. With Blanch it was otherwise.

How could she sleep with the face of Chiquita constantly before her and
the pangs of jealousy gnawing at her heart? How stupid to have imagined
her to be one of those bovine women with large liquid eyes who,
figuratively speaking, pass the major portion of their lives standing
knee-deep in a pond, gazing stolidly out upon the world; a fat brown
wench upon