The glad lady

With Paulette gone, Don Felipe only a casual caller, and Tomás engrossed in his own love affair, Patty felt lonelier than she had believed she could. Doña Martina was often busy and just now a little anxious about her husband who had rather overstepped the mark in working too constantly on the book he was preparing for print, therefore Patty was left a great deal to herself. For the past two or three days she had seen nothing of Perdita. Tomás was absent, as well, having gone to Oviedo on a business trip for his brother, and the girl resorted to long rides in the little donkey-cart as her best means of amusement.

One afternoon she started forth, her mind set upon a certain point from which there was a fine view of sea and mountains. That morning had brought a letter from Paulette, a complacent sort of epistle which had somehow irritated Patty. Mlle. Delambre had met Mons. Adolph Busson. They were mutually pleased. The betrothal had taken place and the marriage would be a little later. She hoped her dear friend, Patty, would be present at the wedding, unless superior attractions detained her in Spain. She wished so good an arrangement as hers might be made for her friend, yet it was only in France that these matters could be properly managed. She hoped American methods would not lead to her Patty’s remaining an old maid; that would be so unfortunate. How was the sly Tomás? and what of that other one, the Englishman, who had seemed so attentive for the moment? As for the old don, he was far too antiquated even for Patty.

“I’d like to know what the ‘even for Patty’ means,” meditated the girl, her thoughts on the letter as she took her place in the little cart. She remembered the day when Paulette had announced this possible arrangement of affairs and the train of thought carried her to the earrings which she had not remembered. Where had they gone? She could accuse Perdita, but perhaps she had seen them that day and could tell her, if they were really where Patty believed she had put them. Perhaps, after all, it would be better to hunt up Perdita and see if anything were wrong with her since she had not been to the house for several days. She might be ill, or her grandmother.

Guido’s head was therefore turned in the direction of the little farm, and before the low white house Patty halted. There was no sign of life except from the chickens picking around, and to the girl’s knock there was no reply. There was then nothing to do but to turn the cart around again and go in the direction she had first decided upon. This led toward the sea, though not along the road she generally used, but rather one further from the village with the mountains on the left. It was a tortuous way and a rough one. So steep at last did it become that Patty decided to leave the cart and try the rest of the ascent on foot. “If it were not for the cart, Guido,” she said, “I would let you go, too, for you can climb these hills and pick your way better than I. You are a good little burro, Guido, and I have not been disappointed in you. After all, you are much less disappointing than some human beings who profess a great deal and then—I wonder if he thought that by the gift of you he was simply making a graceful return for hospitality—not that you can be called graceful, Guido; far from it—At all events I’d like to know if it were that, or if he did it merely because he felt sorry for you, or whether it were another reason. Oh, me, there is no use wondering. This is a very lonely hill and I don’t know why I came to it, except that I am rather hugging my loneliness these days. I suppose Juan and Tina would be horrified to know I came here by myself, and I must confess, it was rather a venturesome thing to do. Guido, I will tie you so you can get at the grass and things, for now that I have come this far I may as well go on.”

She left the little gray beast safely tethered and started off up the steep path. It was seldom used and at times almost lost itself in thickets of brakes and briars. There was a low stone wall to climb then at last the height was reached, and Patty, panting a little, looked around her. A blue crescent of sea lay in front of her; behind her the circle of the horizon was completed by the mountains. “What a view!” the girl exclaimed. “It was worth the climb.” Her eye roved over distant objects, clusters of houses forming small pueblos, half a dozen groups or more, nearer houses isolated from the rest, and nearer still the masses of grass and brambles with here and there a blossom dotting the green.

Suddenly her eye lighted on a figure lying face down in the high grass, a girl in peasant dress. Was she asleep? and what was she doing here so far from house or road? Perhaps she was ill or hurt. Moving nearer Patty stopped as she noticed a slight movement of the figure. The crackling of the bushes as Patty made her way through caused the girl to raise her head, showing a face tear-stained and wet-eyed.

“Perdita!” cried Patty. “It is you? What is the matter?”

“Oh, señorita,” Perdita sat up, “I have a sad heart.”

“And why?” Patty made a place by Perdita’s side. “Tell me all about it. You are not grieving because Tomás has gone away, are you? He will be back in a few days. Did you think he was going to stay?”

“Oh, no, señorita, it is not that. It is I who am going away to stay.”

“You? Why, where are you going?”

“Into a convent, señorita.”

“Not to stay?” Patty was aghast. It seemed a tragedy to her to shut up this young creature behind convent walls. “You are not going to become a nun?”

“No, señorita, but I am to be gone two years and it seems forever.”

“Oh, but it will soon pass. I was two years in a convent and as I look back it does not seem long. But, Perdita, why are you going? Is it your grandmother who sends you?”

“It was my grandmother who told me I was to go. I am to go to get an education, to become more of a lady.”

“Oh, now that is not to be wept over. Why, the other day you were longing for such advantages.”

Perdita made no answer except to draw a long sigh.

“Is it because of Tomás? Does your grandmother know?” Patty still plied her with questions.

“No, I do not think it is that. If my grandmother knows she has not said so. She said, ‘some one wishes you to go to a convent for two years; at the end of that time we shall see what we shall see.’”

“Oh, Perdita, it must be just as we hoped, and your father is coming back after having made a fortune. Are you not glad? Shall you not be happy to see him?”

“Maybe, though you know, señorita, he is but a stranger to me, and what if he should want to separate me from Tomás, or what if while I am away, some other should take his fancy and I should return to find no Tomás for me? It would break my heart, señorita. I should die.”

“That is showing very little faith in Tomás. I do not believe he is the inconstant sort for there was Paulette and here was—” she stopped short.

“Yourself. Yes. I know, and if he did not love anyone so dear and lovely as you I should have more faith, but I cannot help my fears. Can anyone who loves as I do? If you had a lover, señorita, would you not fear to leave him for two years, to know that in all that time you could not write to him nor hear from him?”

“But can you not see him?”

“No, my grandmother says I am not to leave the convent. She cannot even come to see me herself, and that is a great sacrifice for her to make, she says.”

“But what will she do without you?”

“Someone is to come to take charge of the farm and to look after my grandmother. I do not like that, either, señorita. I do not like to think of others attending to my animals, to count my sheep, my chickens. I do not want to go away from my own pueblo. I want to be as free as I am to-day.” She stretched her arms wide and raised her face to the skies. “That is why I came here,” she went on, “because it is so large and free up here and one can see the whole world.”

“Yes, I understand that feeling,” murmured Patty.

“Then, too, there is another thing,” Perdita continued. “Tomás was telling me that his brother has spoken of sending him to America. What if he goes and never comes back?”

“Yes, I know there has been some talk of it,” said Patty, thoughtfully. She remembered that it was to further Tomás’s success and enable him to marry that his brother had proposed the going to America. Alas, she was the cause of much trouble. “How soon do you go to the convent, Perdita?” she asked presently.

“Next month, señorita. I am to go to Llanes first and there I am to lay aside my peasant dress and be clothed as others are at the convent school.”

“And when you come away I have no doubt you will have pretty frocks like that you put on the other day and you will be very fine, Perdita, so that my sister and brother can have no objection to your becoming one of the family. It will really do much to make the future clear for you and Tomás.”

Perdita shook her head sadly. The two years seemed a lifetime in her young eyes and this parting from her lover the end of all things.

“I shall miss you,” said Patty, after a moment. “Everyone is leaving, it seems, and I shall be very lonely. I had a little present for you, Perdita, but it has been lost.” Then she told of what had happened, Perdita assuring her that she had not noticed the earrings upon the table.

“Oh, señorita, I will pray San Antonio for you,” she said, “and if you would take a figure of the saint and hang it down the well I am sure he would send back the earrings.”

Patty laughed outright, starting up some birds from the underbrush.

Perdita crossed herself. “Oh, but señorita, it is so, I have known it to happen.”

“Then I will get St. Anthony from the chapel and try it,” said Patty, the amusement still in her eyes. “Come, Perdita, don’t be so downcast. Why, I think your prospects are fine. So long as I am here I will keep a sharp eye on Tomás and if I see him casting sheep’s eyes—how do you call it?—mirada al soslayo, is that it? Oh, yes; very well, I will go at him with a vengeance. I don’t know how to say that exactly—con venganza, you understand?”

Perdita did and smiled faintly. It was something to leave behind her such a champion of her rights.

“Now,” said Patty, getting up. “I will take you as far as your turning off. Don’t be unhappy, Perdita. I will attend to St. Anthony and if there is any other one I can tackle who will make Master Tomás keep to his colors, I’ll attend to him, too.” She said this last in English, but the name of Tomás sounded encouraging and Perdita felt more comfortable.

“Was it because of all this you have been staying away?” Patty inquired, when they had started Guido on his homeward way.

“Yes, señorita. I was so troubled that I did not want anyone to see, and I knew I could not remember my lesson or think of anything as I should.”

“But you must not give up coming now that the time is so short, for even if we have no French we can converse in Spanish. I have learned much Spanish, have I not?”

“Yes, señorita; it is wonderful how in three months you have learned to speak so well.”

“I have worked very hard and have taken advantage of speaking whenever I could. One learns very fast in doing that. Is it three months?”

“Very nearly, señorita. It was at the feast of San Juan you saw me first and soon it will be the feast of San Matea, so that I know.”

They passed out of the lonely by-road to the carretera, and jogged along to where Perdita must take the path home. Just as they reached this point Don Felipe came riding by in the opposite direction. He stopped a moment, doffed his hat, gave the two girls a sharp scrutiny and rode on. A little later he overtook Patty. She was alone and was driving Guido leisurely toward home. Don Felipe slackened his pace. “Good evening, señorita,” he said, “so your companion has left you.”

“Yes, señor, she has gone to her home. She is a beautiful girl, is she not?”

“Very beautiful.”

“Did you recognize her that day when I presented her as the Señorita Gonzalez?”

“Not at once, for I do not notice peasants as a rule, then I recollected having seen her, or someone like her.”

“I don’t think Perdita should exactly be classed among the peasants.”

“Why so?”

“She is so gentle and good, so like a lady and with a very bright mind.”

“So I have been told.”

“She would grace any position in life with the proper education. She is very quick to learn.”

“Do you say so? Rather surprising in one of her class, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps, but you know she comes of good stock, of an old family which has deteriorated. I have been giving her French lessons and I have had an opportunity to observe her quickness. It seems she is to have a chance now, for she is going into a convent school. Her father, I believe, is sending her.”

“Her father? So she has one.”

“Yes, it seems she has, and she thinks he is in America and will return after a while.”

“Ah, she is fortunate in having someone who is not a mere tiller of the soil. So you think she will do him credit?”

“She would do anyone credit. I am much interested in her, and hope I may always keep her as a friend.”

“She certainly is most beautiful,” said the old don, musingly. “Here is your gate, señorita. I will come in, if you will permit. I should like a word with your good sister.”

He entered the house as Patty, driving around to the side, saw Guido was handed over to the men at the stables. Don Felipe was in earnest conversation with her sister when she returned. “Come over, Patty,” Doña Martina invited her, “and give us your opinion on a most important subject.”

“Yes, señorita, I beg of you.” Don Felipe arose and handed her a chair. “There is no one whose opinion is of more importance to me. I am thinking of making a few alterations and repairs to my old house which you have honored with your presence. I am also thinking of refurnishing and decorating some of the rooms. This will come later, for I shall make haste slowly, yet I should like your ideas on the subject. Which rooms, in your estimation, would a lady prefer for her apartments?”

“Oh, I should think those looking over toward the garden and the mountains.”

Don Felipe nodded. “And not those on the front?”

“No, one gets tired of droves of oxen and cow-carts passing on the carretera, whereas the mountains are ever changing and the birds come and go among the flowers in the garden so that one has always something pleasant to look at.”

“Then those rooms without question.”

“Unless the lady cares for none of those things.”

“I think her taste would be much like yours. Later on I shall ask your valuable suggestions in the matter of furnishing. I have a lot of old stuff, but—”

“Oh, do use all you can of it, for it is so much better suited to that fine old place than any modern things could be, or, if you must get new, let it be as little as possible.”

“Your taste is excellent, señorita, but do not young ladies generally prefer something brighter and lighter, more in keeping with their charming selves?”

“Those qualities can be considered in the frescoes and the draperies.”

“Oh, I see. When it comes to that point I shall, if I may, ask your invaluable aid in selecting the proper stuffs. Your sister tells me that Mlle. Delambre, is fiancée to a young Frenchman.”

“Yes, and quite happy.”

“She is rather an attractive girl, but there are others far more so. I prefer a dark type of beauty myself.”

Patty glanced at her sister whose face was a study. Then Don Juan entered and the talk fell upon the respective values of certain antiques, and the two ladies left the men in the heart of an animated discussion.

“What do you suppose he is going to do?” Patty asked her sister when they were safe outside.

“You goose, he is thinking of marrying, of course.”

“But whom is he going to marry?”

Her sister laughed. “I should think it pretty evident whom he had in mind.”

Patty looked puzzled and ran over the conversation. “You surely don’t mean me?” she said, after a pause.

“Who else?”

“I am sure I don’t know, but oh, dear, after the way I have snubbed him, he must be an idiot to think I can be picked out and carried home like a door-knocker or an antique plate.”

“It is his conceit, my dear, which makes him think he can do just that thing. When he is all ready he imagines all he will have to do will be to call upon your proper guardians, present his request in proper form and forthwith it will be granted with an appropriate degree of gratitude for the honor. You must remember that he is a blue-blood hidalgo, and that a simple little American girl like yourself could not think of refusing him.”

“Then just let him go ahead and find out, the old silly thing. I hope you will encourage him to spend all he will upon the house; it needs it, heaven knows. I shall do my best to egg him on, and then see how beautifully he will get fooled.”

“You are really in a temper about it.”

“Of course I am.”

“But fancy what a triumph to write to Paulette and announce that you are to marry him. She was ready enough to become mistress of that old palacio, for all she pretended the master was too old. I saw things, my dear, and I know.”

Patty laughed. “You are actually scheming, yourself, but no Auld Robin Grey for me, if you please.”

“You know I didn’t mean it, Patty. Of course, I couldn’t when there is—Tomás.”

“Oh, yes,” Patty’s face clouded, “there is Tomás.”

“What has happened, Patty, child? I have noticed that you avoid him of late. Have you quarreled?”

“No, but—”

“You feel conscious, dear child. Of course since you are aware that we know how matters stand, I can appreciate how you might feel. Never mind, Juan is doing his best to settle Tomás’s future and when all is arranged you can be regularly engaged, Don Felipe or no Don Felipe.”

Patty put her arms around her sister. “Tina, you are a perfect darling, and I am an ungrateful wretch. There is time enough to think about my affairs, for I am ‘ower young to marry.’ I shall want my freedom for years to come.”

“You are likely to have it,” returned her sister, gravely, “if Tomás goes to seek his fortune in Mexico.”

Patty made no reply but her thoughts flew back to the lonely hill and the girl lying prone on her face in the long grass.