“Yes, the song of San Juan,” her sister told her. “Let us go down to the gate and see them in the dance. They sometimes come for miles singing and dancing all the way.” It could hardly be called a dance, though with joined hands a long line of young men and maidens chanted the song, progressing up the road while they took the step called the dance of San Juan. At the gateway they paused for a moment then entered singing still; Perdita at the head led a band of maidens who offered crowns of the field daisies, the flowers of San Juan. Then a young mountaineer approached with a bow. “Where is Juan?” asked Doña Martina nervously. “Call him someone, quick.” But at that moment the doctor appeared and then and there was raised a song in his honor. It had been composed by the schoolmaster and had many stanzas which praised the kingly doctor, his gracious wife, his beautiful guests, his princely brother, his estimable friends, and at last sounded the virtues of even his cow and chickens. After this the maids hurried out with trays of cake and wine, the blind violinist and his wife, who pounded on a drum, struck up a typical air and the dancing began. Most of the damsels considered it unladylike to display much action when dancing the _jota_, but Perdita was too greatly possessed with the spirit of the dance to be hedged about by conventionalities. With arms aloft, fingers snapping, body swaying, she responded to the steps of her partner. “It is a delight to see her,” said Patty to Don Tomás, who was standing by her side. “If only I could dance like that.” “I will teach you,” he offered. “I shall certainly not fail to accept your good offices,” she returned, “although we must practice when Don Felipe is not by. He has already offered to teach me.” [Illustration: “PERDITA.”] “He? That old _hombrecillo_? That _maniqui_?” There was scorn in the tones of Don Tomás. Patty laughed softly. It was not often that Don Tomás showed such temper. “There comes Mr. Lisle,” she said. “I wonder if he dances.” “These Englishmen, they do not dance, they simply spin,” returned Tomás. “It is in Spain only that dancing is an art.” “There’s vanity for you,” said Patty standing on tip-toe that Mr. Lisle might see her across the group of onlookers. “You Spaniards are the most guilelessly vain people I ever saw.” “A Spanish lady and not dancing!” said Robert Lisle as he came up. “The gladth ladthy is say she wish learn dance,” said Tomás, “and I am say I will teach.” “Don’t you want to learn the _jota_?” Patty asked the new comer. “It is just over and it is such a pretty dance. You should have seen Perdita.” “I am afraid a Spanish dance is beyond my powers, and that I have even forgotten the American method.”