introduced herself by the lugubrious appellation of Senora Dolores,
and, receiving Mary with obsequious courtesy, explained that the
Senor and Senora were at a tertulia, or evening party. She lighted
Mary and Mr. Ward into the quadra; and there Mr. Ward, shaking hands
with her as if he would thereby compensate for all that was wanting
in her welcome, promised to go and inform her father of her arrival.

Mary stood in the large dark room, with the soft matted floor, and
the windows high up near the carved timbered ceiling, the single
lamp, burning in rum, casting a dim gleam over the well-known
furniture, by which her mother had striven to give an English
appearance to the room. It was very dreary, and she would have given
the world to be alone with her throbbing head, her dull heartache,
and the weariness of spirits over-long wound up for the meeting; but
her own apartment could be no refuge until it had been cleansed and
made ready, and Dolores and Xavier were persecuting her every moment
with their hospitality and their inquiries. Then came a quick, manly
tread, and for a moment her heart almost seemed to stand still, in
the belief that it was her father; but it was only Robson, hurrying
in to offer his services and apologies. Perhaps he was the very last
person she could bear to see, feeling, as she did, that if he had
been more explicit all the offence would have been spared. He was so
much aware of all family matters, and was accustomed to so much
confidence from her father, that she could not believe him
unconscious; and there was something hateful to her in the plausible
frankness and deferential familiarity of his manners, as, brushing up
his sandy hair upon his forehead, he poured forth explanations that
Mr. Ponsonby would be delighted, but grieved that no one had met her-
-Valdivia not expected so soon--not anticipated the pleasure--if they
had imagined that Miss Ponsonby was a passenger--