Flavia begged. "Come here, Frederick!
Indeed, he is only a young dog and very gentle."

"He is very large, senorita," the girl smiled, half-reassured,
half-fearful. "He bites, no?"

"No, indeed. See."

"He loves the senorita. That does not surprise," with Latin grace of
compliment.

Flavia smiled, too, drawing the Great Dane's bulky head against her
knee.

"I love him, perhaps."

"One sees it, since he voyages with the senores in that splendid
automobile, where a man might find place with joy."

A wistfulness in the comment moved the listener to give explanation,
almost in apology for lavishing upon an animal what might have rejoiced
a human being.

"He is my brother's dog. But my brother went away, and the poor dog
grieved for him all the time, except with me. I could not leave him to
fret, without either of us, so he came abroad, too."

"Across the ocean, senorita?"

"Across the ocean. From America."

The two young girls considered one another in a pause full of cordial
sympathy. Different in race, station and experience, the bond of
maidenhood drew them to each other with delicate lines of mutual
comprehension and accord.

"It is the dog's name which is on the great silver-and-leather collar,
or the name of the senorita?"

Flavia's small fair hand guided the plump brown one tracing the legend
upon the massive band.

"'_Federigo el Grande, que pertenece a Corwin Basil Rose, Long
Island_,'" she translated.

"Don Corwin--that does not say itself easily!"

"We called him Corrie."

"Ah, that I can say; Don Corrie."

The soft household name sounded yet softer in the Andalusian accents.
Flavia looked away, feeling her lips quiver.

"Will you tell me your name?" she asked, by way of diversion. "Mine is
Flavia Rose. Perhaps we shall see more of each other, if I stay here and
you do also."

"I am called Elvira Paredes, senorita. And I shall be here--I cannot go
for so long, so long, perhaps never."

Flavia leaned forward, her clear eyes questioning.

"You want to go away? To leave this place for some other?"

The confidence came with an outrush of feeling, a wealth of expression
and expressive gestures.

"Senorita, to join my betrothed. Ah, there never was one like him, so
beautiful, so brave, so constant like the sun in rising! You cannot
know. No one can know who has not seen it. And sing! Under my window he
would sing until the birds would hush, hush to listen. I have no
marriage-portion,