Jones was shocked, to say the least; and for a moment he could hardly catch his breath, much less command the attention of the lovers. There they were, two of them—in fact, it usually takes two to complete such a scene. The young Romeo was leaning against the bars of her casement window, his face upturned to hers; their hands were clasped through the grating, their heads were close together, and every now and then Jones thought he saw— It was an ideal scene—to the participants—re-acted there in the moonlight from some Shakespearean play, till Jones rang down the curtain with a laugh of ominous portent. For one of the lovers was Francisco and the other—well, the other was the landlord’s daughter. “Hello, there, Francisco, you rascal—what are you doing there?” Jones demanded. It was eleven o’clock and Jones had just returned from the plaza. Francisco turned quickly, dropped the little hand held in his own, said something of sinister sound in Spanish which could hardly be translated into English, then—“Eet ees you, ees eet, _señor_?—so surpreesed am I! I—I was—how the Engleesh?—hold hands weeth the _señorita_, ees eet not?” “It is,” commented Jones, rather emphatically: “but I would like to know what right you—you—” “You see,” interrupted Francisco, cheerfully conscious that explanations were in order, “the _señorita_ have made the promeese to marry weeth me. We have eengaged—ees eet not?—to marree us if the _papa_ of the _señorita_ wills.” “Ah, I see!” and Jones gave a low whistle of dawning discernment. Then a sarcastic smile spread over his face. “But may I be so bold as to inquire, Francisco,” he resumed, “what part you played in that interesting conversation of ours this evening? Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged to her?” “Eet was thees way, _señor_. Eet was the leetle trick of mine to see the _señorita_ and say the speech for myself. When you say to me to tell the _señorita_ that you are delighted to see her look so well, I say the Americano ees deelighted to see you look so well, _señorita_—and Francisco lofe you!” “Well, I’ll be hanged! You infernal—” but Jones checked himself. “And when the _señor_ say to tell the _señorita_ that he will be glad to say the speech some other time, I tell the _señorita_ that Francisco will be glad to meet her to-night at her weendow on the Calle Aldama. For I love the _señorita_—ees eet not so, _queridita_?” For answer a small hand found its way through the bars of the window to the false Francisco, and Jones heard a low laugh of love and music. THE STATE HOUSE OF MARYLAND By George W. McCreary The most historic building in Maryland is the State House at Annapolis, the present one having been preceded by two others. The first was built in 1696, and a curious account of its condition is to be found in Volume 20, of the Maryland Archives. This building had a short but somewhat tragic history.