Dona Pomposa crossed her hands on her stomach and twirled her thumbs. A red spot was in each coffee-coloured cheek, and the mole in her scanty eyebrow jerked ominously. Her lips were set in a taut line, and her angry little eyes were fixed upon a girl who sat by the window strumming a guitar, her chin raised with an air of placid impertinence.
"Thou wilt stop this nonsense and cast no more glances at Juan Tornel!" commanded Doña Pomposa. "Thou little brat! Dost thou think that I am one to let my daughter marry before she can hem? Thank God we have more sense than our mothers! No child of mine shall marry at fifteen. Now listen--thou shalt be locked in a dark room if I am kept awake again by that hobo serenading at thy window. To-morrow, when thou goest to church, take care that thou throwest him no glance. Dios de mi alma! I am worn out! Three nights have I been awakened by that _tw-a-n-g, tw-a-n-g."_
"You need not be afraid," said her daughter, digging her little heel into the floor. "I shall not fall in love. I have no faith in men."
Her mother laughed outright in spite of her anger.
"Indeed, my Eulogia! Thou art very wise. And why, pray, hast thou no faith in men?"
Eulogia tossed the soft black braid from her shoulder, and fixed her keen roguish eyes on the old lady's face.
"Because I have read all the novels of the Señor Dumas, and I well know all those men he makes. And they never speak the truth to women; always they are selfish, and think only of their own pleasure. If the women suffer, they do not care; they do not love the women--only themselves. So I am not going to be fooled by the men. I shall enjoy life, but I shall think of _myself_, not of the men."
Her mother gazed at her in speechless amazement. She never had read a book in her life, and had not thought of locking from her daughter the few volumes her dead husband had collected. Then she gasped with consternation.
"Por Dios, señorita, a fine woman thou wilt make of thyself with such ideas! a nice wife and mother--when the time comes. What does Padro Flores say to that, I should like to know? It is very strange that he has let you read those books."
"I have never told him," said Eulogia, indifferently.
"What!" screamed her mother. "You never told at confession?"