“Where have you been?” she cried. “We have been just wild. How perfectly sweet you look in that mantilla!” Catalina explained, and Mr. Moulton drew a long sigh of relief. “I shall never worry about you again, my dear child. And now tell me what you wish to do. I trust you will become reconciled—” “I shall remain in Spain perhaps for some months—I have cancelled my passage. But I shall like to see _you_ again. Will you come to the Casa Villéna immediately after luncheon? I have a little plan to propose to you.” “Certainly I will—but is your decision irrevocable?” “Quite. Perhaps I shouldn’t keep you now. And my duenna must be waiting for me.” She nodded and turned away, but Lydia followed and took her arm. “I can go back to the hotel with Captain Over,” she said to her father, and the two girls walked down the nave with heads together, oblivious of the half-amused, half-sulky man in their wake. “Well, what of Jesus Maria?” “I have given up all hope of ever seeing him again.” “Hope? Do you want to?” “I do and I don’t. Of course, it had to end sooner or later, but—well—I _was_ fascinated! And there is so little to look back upon! However, it was great fun imagining what things might happen, and all the while to be quite safe under the paternal wing. I suppose if I had seen him alone I really wouldn’t have kissed him—I probably should have run away in disgust—but I enjoyed it all in imagination. Now, I shall be rather relieved when I am safely out of Spain, for I know that he was quite serious. When we were running away from Albacete and then from Alcazar, I felt as serious as he did—I was really romantic and love-lorn—but I took myself in hand when I arrived here, and now I am quite sensible again.” “What a tangle! Is that the way people fall in love—and out again?” Catalina felt puzzled and depressed. Life suddenly seemed commonplace, love a sort of cap-and-bells, to be worn now and again when convenient. “Well, I wish you good luck,” she said. “Write me when you are really engaged, and I’ll send you a lot of jewels from our California mines—tourmalines and chrysoprases and turquoises and garnets and beryls. I have jugs full of them.” Lydia’s eyes expanded. “Jugs full! They cost frightfully in New York. Will you really send me some?” “Dozens.” “What a fairy princess you are! I am only beginning to appreciate you, and now you are throwing us over—for good and all!” “Good-bye,” said Catalina, kissing her. “At two, Captain Over, and don’t forget to bring Cousin Lyman. And make no confidences,” she murmured. XVI “But, my dear Catalina—why, of course, I cannot go—the idea is preposterous—” “Now you are talking by the book. Why was Europe made except for the American to play in and refresh himself for the same old duties at home? And for a man of your intelligence to balk at a bull-fight—”