to compliment you,
senorita, upon your marvellous grace in the contra-danza? It quite
turned my head, and I am delighted to hear that you will dance alone
after supper."

Her face had flushed hotly. She dropped her eyes and her voice
trembled as she replied: "You humiliate me, senor, and I deserve it.
I--my poor Rosa told me something of her great tragedy while dressing
me, and for the moment other things seemed unimportant. What is hunger
and court favor beside a broken heart and a desolate life? But that of
course is the attitude of an ignorant girl." She raised her eyes.
They were soft, and her voice was softer. "I beg that you will forgive
me, senor. And be sure that I take an even deeper interest in your
great mission than yesterday. I have thought much about it, and while
I have told my mother nothing, I have expressed certain peevish hopes
that a ship would not come all the way from Sitka without taking a hint
more than one Boston skipper must have given, and brought us many
things we need. She is quite excited over the prospect of a new shawl
for herself, and of sending several as presents to the south; besides
many other things: cotton, shoes, kitchen utensils. Have you any of
these things, Excellency?"

Rezanov stared at her face, barely tinted with color, dully wondering
why it should be so different from the one roguish, pathetically
innocent, that had haunted him all day. He asked abruptly:

"Which is the friend whose little ones you envy? You have made me wish
to see them and her?"

"That is Elena--beside Gervasio." She indicated a young woman with
soft, patient, brown eyes, the dignity of her race and the sweetness of
young motherhood, who would have looked little older than herself had
it not been for an already shapeless figure. "I can take you to-morrow
to see them if you wish."

She had cast down her eyes and her face was white. Still he groped on.

"Pardon me if I say that I am surprised your parents should permit such
a woman as this Rosa to attend you. Why should your happy life be
disturbed by the lamentations of an abandoned creature--who can do you
no good, and possibly much harm?"

Still Concha did not raise her eyes. "I do not think poor Rosa would
do anyone harm. But perhaps it were as well she went elsewhere. We
have had her long enough. I have taken a dislike to her. I reproach
myself bitterly, but I cannot help it. I should like never to see her
again."

"What