“You have an English home, though, and that must be lovely. I have been in England, and I know how charming some of the homes there are.” “Ours is not particularly so. It is in London, and though we have a garden, after a fashion, it is not like the one I remember in Kentucky, which must have been something like that of your childhood’s delight.” “Then you love your old Kentucky home the best?” Patty said eagerly. “Yes, I confess it. Perhaps when I see it again the glory will have departed, though in my dreams it is the most charming spot in the world.” “Did it have tall box walks and a perfect riot of roses climbing everywhere? Was there an old apple-tree with a lovely low crotch where you could sit? Was there a queer sun-dial and a fountain? Did the beehives stand at one end, and were there currant bushes all along one side? That is the way ours was.” “Ours was not unlike, except that my favorite was a cherry tree, and we had gooseberries instead of currants. There were no bees, but I kept pigeons and they used to strut up and down the graveled walks. It broke my heart to give up those pigeons.” “And it nearly killed me to part from my pony.” “My little mare, Betsy, is still there. I can imagine it was a wrench for you to give up your pony if you felt as I did about Bet.” “Who lives there now?” “An aunt, my father’s aunt, so it is not in the hands of strangers.” “Our house is. We have rented it and shall sell it when we have a good offer.” “Then you do not expect to go back there to live.” “No. Juan’s interests seem to be centering over here, and where Tina is I shall be. We may spend the winter in Madrid or Paris, so you see the prospect of going back to old Kaintuck is a very distant one. We leave this _fonda_ in a few days for Juan’s home. It is just beyond, between this and the next village, and there we shall spend the summer. Don Tomás has been living there alone since his mother’s death about three years ago, and the house really was badly in need of repairs.” “I notice you say Tomás with the accent on the last syllable, and not as we pronounce Thomas.” “Yes, that is the way the Spanish call it. I think I like it better. They are coming up. I must go in, for no doubt my sister wonders what has become of me.” She joined the others in the _sala_, leaving Mr. Lisle to his own reflections. “Where have you been all this time, Patty?” asked her sister. “Oh, I have been meditating part of the time. I should think you would be glad to know I do think sometimes.” “Were you out there on the _galleria_ all the time?” “Yes.” Doña Martina sniffed the air. “Someone is smoking. Was Juan with you?” “No, dearest of duennas, he was not. I had the charming society of our compatriot, and we have been talking of our Kentucky homes till I am sure he is homesick; I know I am.” Her sister’s face softened and she said gently: “It wasn’t exactly right for you to sit out there with him alone.”