IV.


The party deserted the table for the garden, there to idle until
evening should give them the dance. All of the men and most of the
women smoked cigaritos, the latter using the gold or silver holder,
supporting it between the thumb and finger. The high walls of the
garden were covered with the delicate fragrant pink Castilian roses,
and the girls plucked them and laid them in their hair.

"Does it look well, Don Diego?" asked one girl, holding her head
coquettishly on one side.

"It looked better on its vine," he said, absently. He was looking for
Chonita, who had disappeared. "Roses are like women: they lose their
subtler fragrance when plucked; but, like women, their heads always
droop invitingly."

"I do not understand thee, Don Diego," said the girl, fixing her wide
innocent eyes on the young man's inscrutable face. "What dost thou
mean?"

"That thou art sweeter than Castilian roses," he said and passed on.
"And how is, thy little one?" he asked a young matron whose lithe
beauty had won his admiration a year ago, but to whom maternity had
been too generous. She raised her soft brown eyes out of which the
coquettish sparkle had gone.

"Beautiful! Beautiful!" she cried. "And so smart, Don Diego. He beats
the air with his little fists, and--Holy Mary, I swear it!--he winks