XIII

"Concha," said Sturgis abruptly, "will you marry me?"

Concha, who was sitting in the shade of the rose
vines on the corridor making a dress for Gertrudis
Rudisinda, ran the needle into her finger.

"Madre de Dios!" she cried angrily. "Who
would have expected such foolish words from you?
and now I have pricked my finger and stained my
little frock. It will have to be washed before worn,
and is never so pretty after."

"I am sorry," said Sturgis humbly. "But it seems
to me that if a man wishes to marry a maid he
should ask her in a straightforward manner, with
no preliminary sighs and hints and serenades--and
all sorts of insincere stage play.

"He should at least address her parents first."

"True. I was wholly the American for the mo-
ment. May I speak to Don Jose and Dona Ignacia,
Concha?"

"How can I prevent? No, I will not coquet with