Robert Lisle walked home under the great stars that evening with a new sense of restlessness at heart. He was rather a lonely young man, feeling something of the alien in his grandfather’s house, yet having cut loose from the ties which bound him to his native land. His grandfather did not hesitate to remind him that he was not a Sterling in name and that therefore he could not expect that inheritance which might have fallen to him had he been born heir to a son of the house. The old man was not unkind, but he was not a companionable person. He had given his grandson the education which befitted his station, had equipped him with the profession the boy preferred, and had allowed him a place in his home whenever he should choose to accept his hospitality. Having done this much he felt that he had fulfilled his duty, and asked little in return. On one subject, however, he had expressed a decided opinion: Robert should marry money, should choose a wife of good family as well. Robert had tacitly accepted the arrangement in not differing with his grandfather when the subject was brought up, but to-night the idea suddenly became distasteful. Instead of Miss Moffatt, whose neutral tints were of mental as well as of physical quality, he saw a merry laughing witch of a maid, whose eyes could be meltingly tender or full of mischief, who, while she appeared only a little less than a trifler, nevertheless, had depths as yet unstirred in her nature. He had had glimpses of this underlying the exterior; he knew all that her gay laughter hid. He had looked below the surface. The glad lady! How well the name suited her. How well she would love once she had given her heart. But--. He stood still in the road and looked back over the long white way, then with an impatient fling he turned and trudged on. “What’s the use,” he muttered. “I can’t afford it. I must not think of it. A penniless, struggling fellow, what have I to offer a girl? No, I must not think of it. Moreover, there is the old don, and if not, the other fellow whom she evidently favors.” Meanwhile Don Felipe had ridden away, and out in the _patio_ Tomás was teaching Patty the _jota_, while Doña Martina called to them from above, “Come in, come in, you scandalous pair,” she cried. “Don’t you know it is past midnight? Haven’t you had dancing enough?” “We have only seen it, we haven’t taken part in it,” replied Patty, halting in her practice of the step. “We’ll come in presently, Tina. There may never come another day like this. Why grudge us a few moments?” “This isn’t to-day, as you call it; it is to-morrow.” “Then consider what a triumph. It ought to be put on record. I have beguiled one Spaniard into catching up with _mañana_.” “Paulette has gone in,” Doña Martina said after watching the two for a few moments, “and I am so tired and so cold waiting here.”