have nothing. They have to ask, and it
is the girls who can say 'No;' and then they are miserable, and beg and
beg until one detests them. If any one said 'No' to me, I would not let
them see it hurt me. They should think I did not care."

"You will not always say 'No,'" grumbled Jovita. "Wait till the day for
'Yes' comes. You'll say it fast enough. That's the way with women."

A bewitching little smile slowly curved Pepita's lips and crept into her
eyes.

"I am not a woman," she said, looking out at the sun-warmed vineyards.
"He said so himself. Felipe said, 'You are not a woman; you are a witch,
and no one can touch your heart or conquer you.' I will be a witch."

Secretly she had liked those words better than any of the adoring
praises she had heard before. She liked the suggestion that she was
invincible and safe from all danger--to be a witch--to be free from all
this disastrous folly--to be unconquerable. Yes, that pleased her. It
was not her fault that they would fall in love with her. What did she do
to them? Nothing. She never allowed them to come near her or touch
her; she never gave them tender glances or words. She laughed and was
Pepita--that was all. Then it was no fault of hers.

And yet her little heart was warm enough. She loved Jose passionately;
she loved Jo-vita; she loved little children and animals, and they
loved her in return; old men and women adored her because of her simple,
almost childish kindness and her readiness to help those who needed her
young strength and bright spirit. It was only men who made love who were
shown no mercy. She did not know that they needed mercy. She did not
understand--that was all. It was as Jose had known it would be. When on
the first holiday be took her to the public gardens with Jovita, every
one who passed them gave her a second look; many turned to watch her;
certainly there was not a man who did not glance over his shoulder at
the bewitching girlish figure with the small round waist, at the piquant
radiant face, at the well-carried little head with the red rose blooming
in its cloud of soft black hair.

[Illustration: Took her to the public gardens 035]

It was not long before two or three who were Jose's fellow-workmen
sought him out and greeted him with great warmth. They had, it appeared,
a great deal to say and many attentions to lavish upon him. Such a fine
fellow, this Jose--such a good fellow--such a workman as was seldom seen
in Madrid. And w