flashed or melted, and that smile played and that lip pouted, as brightly and pertly, for others, one and all, as for your own dear envious self. Beside her, she was your queen and empress; away, she was a little minx, a sweet little flirt. To sum up, in dancing she was a fairy, in singing a cherub, and far or near an enchanting, bewitching creature. Luis Mendoza, the father of these ladies, was a rare old Spaniard. He had travelled a good deal in Europe, especially in England, where he had acquired not only some knowledge of the language but also a predilection for its convivial habits; and brandy and water had more charms for him in a cool evening, than _matte_ or _eau sucrée_. He had early lost his helpmate, and, freed from this check on his convivial habits, it required little encouragement on his part to keep his house constantly full of _bon vivants_ to assist him at the duties of the table, and gallants to amuse his daughters in the sala; and more of his gallants and _bon vivants_ were to be found among the Anglo-Saxons than among the natives. Thus were Mariquita and Anita Mendoza accustomed from their earliest years to the language of adulation; and from having the duties of a household thus early thrust upon each, there was less of maidenly reserve, a little more of maidenly coquetry, with a dash more of masculine character, than in other circumstances would have been becoming at such tender years. These ladies were seated alone in an elegantly fitted up sala, the elder busy with her needle at some fancy work, and the other idly and listlessly hurrying her soft white little dimpled fingers over the keys of a rich-toned piano--to a well-known air in South America, the words of which imply that the singer never, never, never will get married-- “No no no no quiero, No quiero casarme Es mejor, es mejor, Ser soltéra Siempre paseandera Del mundo Del mundo gozar. Amantes amantes Constantes se encuentran Muy pocos al dia Con cara tan fresca Como una violéta Y con ojos tan Brillantes a mi gusto. “Well, Mariquita,” said the young lady, throwing aside the music, “I admire the patience you can bestow upon that endless sampler, when you must feel as tired and exhausted as I am.” “Of course, Anita, after that ball, sampler work is rather tame and tedious; but what shall we do?” “I am afraid we shall have nobody out here to-day,” said Anita, with a kind of suppressed yawn. “I see how it is, Anita; you are wearying already for even a languid compliment to those flashing eyes of yours.” “Depend upon it, Mariquita, that my eyes could stand no comparison to your lips with any man of taste.” “How did you relish Bruin’s hugs last night?” retorted the elder. “Oh, the dear Bruin! I could not forbear hugging him now in return, were he here to enliven us. And _gracias a Dios_, here he is!” Scarcely were the words uttered, when the portly person and beaming face of Tom Thorne stood before them.