But she read on for several lines, then, seemingly having come to a satisfactory ending of an exciting crisis, she laid the paper down carefully and, looking up with a sweet smile, "Gooda morrneen, Señor Pablo," she answered. And in her tone, her smile, there was no fear of disapproval, but rather that bubbling satisfaction which hardly can wait to be congratulated. "Why are you not at school?" asked the Maestro, severely. "Ah, de school, de school, yes, de school was very nice," she sighed, with the tenderness one uses to speak of the sweet, gone past. But her interest, plainly, was elsewhere. "To-day is leapa-year day," she went on, her voice now vibrant with decision; "and I am going to get married, Señor Maestro; I am to get married like an American girl; just like an American girl!" she repeated, in glowing exultation. "Oh!" said the Maestro, with lying fervour, "somebody has asked your hand, Señorita? Let me congratulate you. And who is the lucky fellow?" "Asked my hand?" cried the Maestra, wonderingly. "No. I said like an American girl. Nobody has asked me the hand. I will marry like an American girl. This is leapa-year day. Just like an American girl!" "But, gadzooks!" exclaimed the Maestro, at once frightened and horrified by this strange insistence, "American girls don't marry like that. Leap-year, that's just fiction, a legend, a joke. I told you about leap-year the other day; it's just a little joke--yes, that's it, a little joke!" But the Maestra was proof against American bluff. "American girls, they all, all marry on leapa-year," she said, severely. "You say so the other day, and all the American books say so. Here is a paper," she said, patting the _Hearth Companion_. "There are in it ten stories about American girls, and they all marry on leapa-year day; all, _todas_ ask a gentleman to marry on leapa-year day. It is not a joke." "But," hinted the Maestro, "maybe Señor Ledesma does not want to marry." "That does not matter at all," said the Maestra, crisply. "If we will be Americans, we must adopt the American costumbres. There is a story in this paper--it does not matter at all; Señor Ledesma is very bashful, but this is leapa-year day." Just then the rice rose in a foaming surge and began to trickle down the black rotundity of the pot. The Maestra sprang up with agile grace, and with a few dexterous sweeps of her little feet scattered the fire of twigs. "Will you have some breakfast?" she asked the Maestro, sweetly. But during this movement the Maestro's brain had been working swiftly, and he had decided upon a change of base. "Your assistant, Felicia, is becoming a very able teacher," he remarked, nonchalantly. "Yes, she is a very good teacher," agreed the Maestra; but there was no emphasis on her adjective. "This morning," went on the Maestro, "she was teaching the children. She said, 'Do you see the hat?' and she pointed to the pear tree."