"We have laid before the Captain our point of view," Hernandez was saying. "Even the charming Señora Valentino, a stranger here and altogether free from self-interest, agrees----" They passed into the ballroom. Señor Mendoza walked up and down the room, pretending to clap his hands before this señorita, or that, this being the signal by which the favored one was notified that she was to set foot to the measures. Laughter and bantering without stint went around. "Lolita Hernandez!" "Lucinda Higuera!" "Tula Laynez!" "Juanita Calderon!" "Alfreda Castro!" from yet another partisan; and so on. "The Señorita Carmelita!" cried a dozen voices as the doña entered. "Beautiful! Beautiful!" exclaimed the usually phlegmatic Fulgencio Higuera. "The señorita Mendoza has stolen the light of stars for her eyes, and she has robbed the gardens for her cheeks. Let her dance El Son." She bowed in appreciation. "I thank you," she said. Then to her father, "Papacito, a word." They withdrew. "Will you ask me to dance El Son?" Wondrously beautiful she was, her dark eyes glowing, the color flaming in her cheeks. The chivalry of his young manhood lived again as he saw the resplendent girl. Joy leaped in his heart that this exquisite creature was his daughter. She stood before him, every element of her personality pleading. "Please, Papacito! I wish it to-night more than anything else." They walked back among the people. The company unwittingly seconded her request. "The Señorita Mendoza, the fairest of the fair! Call her, señor! Call her, the lily of the valley!" The old don hesitated. Again came the request from all sides, increasing insistent. "Papacito, please!" urged the girl in low voice. He clapped his hands before her. In the midst of loud applause she walked to the middle of the room. The music, now dreamy and insinuating, soon took a livelier turn. The young woman glided back and forth on the waxed floor as lightly as a swallow skims the air. In willowy movements, hands and feet in perfect correspondence, she hovered over the cleared space, seeming scarcely to touch the floor. Then, in wider step, she circled over this space in eaglelike sweeps, her arms outstretched and her long hair floating. Without pausing, the girl's movements became sinuous, gentle. She advanced, retreated, again came forward, as if entreating, but fearing rebuff. Rare grace and charm was in every motion. "Brava! Brava!" shouted the men, while above all was heard the excited voice of Morando. With arms extended she fluttered from side to side, as a butterfly sipping honey from flower-cups here and there, staying but an instant at any one. Her hand made gesture to the musicians. The strain became bold, quick, martial. She spun on her toe-tips, her long dress billowing, her hair streaming. As she whirled, her feet described winding figures on the floor, her skirts repeating the design. More and more quickly Carmelita circled over the room.