Dona Isabel, the sister of the Alcalde, had drawn her aside, and, with
caressing frankness, had begun to question her in broken English,--
"But Miss Keene is no name. The Dona Keene is of nothing."
"Well, you may call me Eleanor, if you like," said Miss Keene, smiling.
"Dona Leonor--so; that is good," said Dona Isabel, clapping her hands
like a child. "But how are you?"
"I beg your pardon," said Miss Keene, greatly amused, "but I don't
understand."
"Ah, Caramba! What are you, little one?" Seeing that her guest still
looked puzzled, she continued,--"Ah! Mother of God! Why are your friends
so polite to you? Why does every one love you so?"
"Do they? Well," stammered Miss Keene, with one of her rare, dazzling
smiles, and her cheeks girlishly rosy with naive embarrassment, "I
suppose they think I am pretty."
"Pretty! Ah, yes, you are!" said Dona Isabel, gazing at her curiously.
"But it is not all that."
"What is it, then?" asked Miss Keene demurely.
"You are a--a--Dama de Grandeza!"
CHAPTER VI.
"HAIL AND FAREWELL."
Supper was served in the inner room opening from the corridor lit by
a few swinging lanterns of polished horn and a dozen wax candles of
sacerdotal size and suggestion. The apartment, though spacious, was low
and crypt-like, and was not relieved by the two deep oven-like hearths
that warmed it without the play of firelight. But when the company had
assembled it was evident that the velvet jackets, gold lace, silver
buttons, and red sashes of the entertainers not only lost their tawdry
and theatrical appearance in the half decorous and thoughtful gloom, but
actually seemed more in harmony with it than the modern dresses of the
guests. It was the Excelsior party who looked strange and bizarre in
these surroundings; to the sensitive fancy of Miss Keene, Mrs. Brimmer's
Parisian toilet had an air of provincial assumption; her own pretty
Zouave jacket and black silk skirt horrified her with its apparent
ostentatious eccentricity; and Mrs. Markham and Miss Chubb seemed
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