s of Lily's taking the silly, romantic whim of coming here to
spend the honeymoon. And Rosa, foolish girl, what airs she assumes! I
wanted to deal generously by her; but she rejected all my offers as
haughtily as if she had been queen of Spain and all the Americas.
There's a devilish deal more of the Spanish blood in her than I
thought for. Pride becomes her wonderfully; but it won't hold out
forever. She'll find that she can't live without me. I can wait."

Feeling the need of some safety-valve to let off his vexation, he
selected poor Tom for that purpose. When the obsequious servant came
to lead away the horse, his master gave him a sharp cut of the whip,
saying, "I'll teach you to tell tales again, you black rascal!"
But having a dainty aversion to the sight of pain, he summoned the
overseer, and consigned him to his tender mercies.

CHAPTER XIII.

If Flora could have known all this, the sisters would have soon been
locked in each other's arms; but while she supposed that Rosa
still regarded Mr. Fitzgerald with perfect love and confidence, no
explanation of her flight could be given. She did indeed need to be
often reminded by Mrs. Delano that it would be the most unkind thing
toward her sister, as well as hazardous to herself, to attempt any
communication. Notwithstanding the tenderest care for her comfort
and happiness, she could not help being sometimes oppressed with
homesickness. Her Boston home was tasteful and elegant, but everything
seemed foreign and strange. She longed for Rosa and Tulee, and Madame
and the Signor. She missed what she called the _olla-podrida_ phrases
to which she had always been accustomed; and in her desire to behave
with propriety, there was an unwonted sense of constraint. When
callers came, she felt like a colt making its first acquaintance
with harness. She endeavored to conceal such feelings from her kind
benefactress; but sometimes, if she was surprised in tears, she
would say apologetically, "I love you dearly, Mamita Lila; but it is
dreadful to be so far away from anybody that ever knew anything about
the old times."

"But you forget that I do know something about them, darling," replied
Mrs. Delano. "I am never so happy as when you are telling me about
your father. Perhaps by and by, when you have become enough used to
your new home to feel as mischievous as you are prone to be, you will
take a fancy to sing to me, 'O, there's nothing half so sweet in life
as love's