"Folly, man! Here she has a house of her own, a better one than she ever lived in before, servants to wait upon her, and nothing to do but amuse herself." "Nothing to do!" answered Evaña. "Idleness either in man or woman is destructive of happiness. If she has nothing to do she will soon be miserable; she has been accustomed always to have plenty of work on her hands. If she were your wife she would feel that this house was hers, and would soon find plenty of work in ruling it for you. As the head of your household her work would be happiness to her; as your wife she would feel herself a queen among her sisters." "Since when have you learned to know so much of women, Carlos?" replied Don Gregorio, laughing. "Formerly you cared for nothing but books." Evaña turned impatiently away from him and did not answer, whereupon Don Gregorio arose from his chair, saying: "I will go and speak with Mauricia, for her happiness I am ready to make any sacrifice." Evaña relighted his cigar and threw himself full-length upon a sofa; the cigar was long smoked out ere Don Gregorio returned. For several days past Mauricia had been less cheerful than she was wont to be. Don Gregorio had noticed this once or twice when he had come upon her unawares; he had found her in tears, which she had striven to hide from him. When he left Evaña he found her sitting alone with some embroidery work before her, but her fingers were idle, traces of recent tears were on her cheeks, yet as he sat down beside her she cast her sad thoughts to the winds, and turned to greet him with a loving smile. "Has your friend gone?" she asked. "No, not yet. We have been talking of your father, and of the rest of your family; he says----" But as Don Gregorio spoke of her father, all the sad thoughts in which she had been indulging rushed back to her mind, her colour faded from her face, and she clasped her hands together, twining her fingers one over the other, and bowing her head upon her bosom. About her father and her family she could not speak, and, as Don Gregorio spoke to her of them slightingly, her heart for the first time rose in rebellion against him. "They all loved me," said she sharply, in a tone which Don Gregorio had never heard from her before, "and I have brought sorrow and shame upon them; what matters it that they are poor?" As she said this she hid her face in her hands, and the tears trickled through her fingers. Don Gregorio did all that he could to soothe her, speaking loving words to her, leaning over her and caressing her; but to all that he said she spoke not one word in return, still hiding her face from him, still struggling in her own way against the remorse which lay heavy on her heart. "They want me to marry thee," said he, drawing slightly away from her. At this her hands dropped from her face, she turned and looked full upon him, a wild gleam of joy and hope in her eyes. "Will they forgive me?" she asked eagerly.