rk leaf
rimmed with the red of the glowing sky. And Rafael, who was to marry the
vine-dresser's daughter, and so must not "eat the iron" to please any
maid, obeyed the word of Concha more than all Holy Writ, and let it be
supposed that he went to the Ramon's house for the sake of his cousin
Dolores.

For this he paid Manuela to afford him certain opportunities, by which
he profited through the cleverness of Concha and her aunt Manuela. For
that innocent maid took her mistress into her confidence--that is, after
her kind. It was wonderfully sad, she pleaded. She had a lover--good,
generous, eager to wed her, but his family forbade, and if her kind
mistress did not afford her the opportunity she would die. Yes, Concha
would die. The maids of Andalucia ofttimes died for love. Then the tears
ran down her cheeks and little Dolores wept for company, and because she
also was left alone.

Thus it chanced that this foolish Rafael, the alcalde's son, marched
whistling softly to his fate. His broad sombrero was cocked to the left
and looped on the side. His Cordovan gloves were loosely held in his
right hand along with his tasselled cane. He had an eye to the
pavemented street, lest he should defile his lacquered shoes with the
points carved like eagle's beaks. He whistled the jota of Aragon as he
went, and--he quite forgot Ramon, the great good-humoured giant with
whom he had jested and at whom he had laughed. He was innocent of all
intent against little Lola, his playmate. He would as soon have thought
of besieging his sister's balcony, or "plucking the turkey" under his
own mother's window.

But he should not have forgotten that Ramon Garcia was not a man to
wait upon explanations, when he chanced on what seemed to touch the
honour of his house. So Rafael de Flores, because he was to marry
Felesia Grammunt and her wine-vats, and Concha the Andaluse, because to
be known as Rafael's sweetheart might interfere with her other loves,
took the name of Ramon Garcia's wife in vain with light reckless hearts.
This was indeed valorously foolish, though Concha with her much wisdom
ought to have known better. But a woman's experience, that of such a
woman as Concha at least, refers exclusively to what a man will do in
relation to herself. She never considered what Ramon Garcia might do in
the matter of his wife Dolores.

Concha thought that giant cold, stupid, inaccessible. When she first
came into the clear air of the foot-hills from