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She carried a Cuban fan in her hand which was as large as a parasol, and Drollo, walking behind, fairly clanked with the chain of sea-shells which she had wound around him from head to tail. The droll tableau and the supreme pride on Felipa's countenance overcame me, and I laughed aloud.
When Christine had finished her laugh and she never hurried anything, but took the full taste of it she stretched out her arm carelessly and patted Felipa's curly head. The child caught the descending hand and kissed the long white fingers.
"But you said that there was a terrible sequel," suggested Cecily smilingly: "tell us THAT. Perhaps Mr. Bracy may receive it a little more politely." An expression of superstitious gravity, half real, half simulated, came over Dona Felipa's face, although her vivacity of gesticulation and emphasis did not relax. She cast a hurried glance around her, and leaned a little forward towards the cousins.
Bare feet are not pleasant to the eye now-a-days, whatever they may have been in the days of the ancient Greeks; and Felipa's little brown insteps were half the time torn or bruised by the thorns of the chapparal. Besides, there was always the disagreeable idea that she might step upon something cold and squirming when she prowled through the thickets knee-deep in the matted grasses.
"Do not stray off into mysticism, Catherine." "It is not mysticism: it is a study of character " "Where there is no character," replied my friend. I gave it up, but I said to myself, "Fate, in the next world make me one of those long, lithe, light-haired women, will you? I want to see how it feels." Felipa's foot was well again, and spring had come.
"She is hideous," replied Christine: "look at her elbows." Now, Felipa's arms were unpleasant; they were brown and lean, scratched and stained, and they terminated in a pair of determined little paws that could hold on like grim Death.
Felipa's father was a Spanish sailor, and as he had died only the year before, the child's Spanish was fairly correct, and we could converse with her readily, although we were slow to comprehend the patois of the old people, which seemed to borrow as much from the Italian tongue and the Greek as from its mother Spanish. "I know a great deal," Felipa remarked confidently, "for my father taught me.
Until then he would believe that Cecily's fright had been only the effect of Dona Felipa's story, acting upon a vivid imagination, and not a terrible confirmation of something she had herself seen. He threw himself, without undressing, upon his bed in a benumbing agony of doubt.
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