girl. Even in her bearing and expression you could discover more or less
of this union of different races. There was shyness and frankness; there
was mistrust and confidence; there was sentimentality and gayety. In
short, Clara Muñoz Garcia Van Diemen was a handsome and interesting young
lady.

Now for the remarkable woman. Sturdy and prominent old character,
obviously. Forty-seven years old, or thereabouts; lots of curling
iron-gray hair twisted about her round forehead; a few wrinkles, and not
all of the newest. Round face, round and earnest eyes, short,
self-confident nose, chin sticking out in search of its own way, mouth
trembling with unuttered ideas. Good figure--what Lord Dundreary would
call "dem robust," but not so sumptuous as to be merely ornamental;
tolerably convenient figure to get about in. Walks up and down,
man-fashion, with her hands behind her back--also man-fashion. Such is
Mrs. Maria Stanley, the sister of Clara Van Diemen's father, and best
known to Clara as Aunt Maria.

"And so this is Santa Fé?" said Aunt Maria, rolling her spectacles over
the little wilted city. "Founded in 1581; two hundred and seventy years
old. Well, if this is all that man can do in that time, he had better
leave colonization to woman."

Clara smiled with an innocent air of half wonder and half amusement, such
as you may see on the face of a child when it is shown some new and rather
awe-striking marvel of the universe, whether a jack-in-a-box or a comet.
She had only known Aunt Maria for the last four years, and she had not yet
got used to her rough-and-ready mannish ways, nor learned to see any sense
in her philosophizings. Looking upon her as a comical character, and
supposing that she talked mainly for the fun of the thing, she was