“To-morrow morning I’ll be up and out before they are awake,” she announced to her sulky image. “This evening I suppose I must walk with them on the Rambla. Of course, if I had come alone I should have had to find a chaperon for such occasions, but it would be some quaint old duenna I could hire. I’ve never wanted my liberty as I do here in Spain, and Cousin Lyman will barely let me wash my own face. I never was so taken care of in my life—” She ground her teeth, but nodded as Mr. Moulton put his head in at the door and asked her if she were sure she was comfortable, if her room was quite clean and her keys in proper order. Then he adjured her not to drink the water until he had ascertained its reputation, and to be careful not to lean over the railing of the balcony, as it might be insecure; the Spanish were a shiftless people, so far as his observation of them went. Catalina flung her hair-brush at the door as he pattered down the hall to examine the welfare of his daughters. “I’ve a mind to go up and dance on the roof,” she cried, furiously. “One would think I was four years old. Papa was just like that when we travelled, and if all American men are the same I’ll marry an Englishman.” After dinner Mr. Moulton, having seen his wife safely into bed and conscientiously determined to observe every respectable phase of foreign life, drew Lydia’s arm within his, and, bidding Catalina take Jane’s and follow close behind him, went out upon the Rambla. Upon these occasions he always took his youngest carefully under his wing. A wag had once said of her, while commenting upon the infinite respectability of the Lyman T. Moultons, that on a moonlight night, in a boat on a lake, Lydia might develop possibilities; and it may have been some dim appreciation of these possibilities that prompted Mr. Moulton to favor the beauty of the family with more than her share of attention. But Lydia had a coquettish pair of eyes, and under her father’s formidable wing had indulged in more than one innocent flirtation. Catalina raged that she was to take her first night’s pleasure in Spain in the companionship of Jane, and ignored her protector’s mandate. Jane, whose sense of duty increased in proportion to her dislikes, took a firm hold of the Californian’s rigid and vertical arm, and marched close upon her father’s heels.