"They are all just the same as big boys," said Maria. The colour
instantly flew into my face, and I felt that it was my duty to speak
up for my own countrymen. The word "boys" especially wounded my
ears. It was as a boy that she treated me; but, on looking at that
befringed young Spanish Don--who was not, apparently, my elder in
age--she had recognised a man. However, I said nothing further till
I reached the summit. One cannot speak with manly dignity while one
is out of breath on a staircase.

"There, John," she said, stretching her hands away over the fair
plain of the Guadalquivir, as soon as we stood against the parapet;
"is not that lovely?"

I would not deign to notice this. "Maria," I said, "I think that you
are too hard upon my countrymen?"

"Too hard! no; for I love them. They are so good and industrious;
and come home to their wives, and take care of their children. But
why do they make themselves so--so--what the French call gauche?"

"Good and industrious, and come home to their wives!" thought I. "I
believe you hardly understand us as yet," I answered. "Our domestic
virtues are not always so very prominent; but, I believe, we know how
to conduct ourselves as gentlemen: at any rate, as well as
Spaniards." I was very angry--not at the faults, but at the good
qualities imputed to us.

"In affairs of business, yes," said Maria, with a look of firm
confidence in her own opinion--that look of confidence which she has