He closed the door behind him and laid aside his hat. Then he stood
upright, and slowly rubbing his hands together looked at Julia with
the humorous twinkle lurking in his eye and its companion dimple
twitching in his lean cheek. Then he began to feel his pockets,
passing his hands down his worn cassock.

'Let me see, I had a love letter--was it from Don Carlos? At all
events, I have lost it!'

He laughed, made a perfunctory sign of the cross and gave her his
blessing. Then, his face having become suddenly grave as if by
machinery at the sound of the solemn Latin benediction, he sat down.

Julia looked worn and eager. Her eyes seemed to search his face for
news.

'Yes, my dear child,' he said. 'Politics are all very well as a
career. But without a distinct profit they are worth the attention
of few men, and never worth the thought of a woman.'

He looked at her keenly, and she turned to the window, which was
open to admit the breath of violets and other flowers of the spring.
She shrugged her shoulders and gave a sharp sigh.

'See here, my child,' said Padre Concha abruptly. 'For reasons
which concern no one, I take a great interest in your happiness.
You resemble some one whose welfare was once more important to me
than my own. That was long ago, and I now consider myself first, as
all wise men should. I am your friend, Julia, and much too old to