sday you will have another chance."

Thursday! and there were three days in between. I wished that he could
have left me in my dream of peace as long as it might last.

XXX

THE HAND UNDER THE CURTAINS

Like a dream the three days passed; but not a dream of peace, for that I
lost with the last echo of the Virgin music and the fragrance of her
lilies.

Dick thought himself miserable, but I would gladly have changed my state
of mind for his. Sometimes he hoped, sometimes he despaired, but at all
times he was really very happy, if only he had known it. He enjoyed
visiting the Murillos with Pilar and the Cherub when I had no heart to go.
He borrowed the motor to whisk them out to Italica. He went with the
O'Donnels late every afternoon for the drive in the fashionable _paseo_
along the river side, as pleased with the five handsome mules, in their
smart Spanish harness of white and crimson rope and brown leather, as if
they had been his own.

As for me, I would not go, although Dick urged that, in the never-ending
double line of fine carriages, we might meet the Duchess of Carmona's. But
I did not dare to see Monica again after what had happened unless there
were some hope that Pilar could speak for me, or that I could speak for
myself. Still, I could not resist questioning the family in the evening.
Had they heard tidings of her? Had they seen her?

Presently there was news, but not good news. The engagement was known, and
was being talked of everywhere. The story was that the wedding would be
soon, as the Duchess was not strong, and professed herself anxious to see
her son married. Gossip said also that the marriage would be celebrated in
Madrid directly after the festivities of the royal wedding were over, so
that the young duchess, as the wife of a grandee of Spain, could become
lady-in-waiting to the bride-queen, when _los Reyes_ returned from their
honeymoon at La Granja.

The Cherub told me these things only because I insisted on hearing all;
and on Wednesday evening I dragged further details from Pilar. They had
passed the Duchess, Lady Vale-Avon, and Monica in the Carmona carriage,
the handsomest in Seville; and the Duke had been on horseback, looking
more attractive than Pilar had ever seen him in the _chulo_ costume, worn
at times as an amusing affectation by some young aristocrats of Andalucia.
I could picture him in the wide-brimmed grey sombrero, the tight