When at last they were safely aboard the north-bound
train, Alaire mildly teased Dolores about her recent timidity. But
Dolores was not to be betrayed into premature rejoicing.
"Anything may happen at a moment's notice," she declared.
"Something tells me that I am to meet a shocking fate. I can hear
those ruffianly soldiers quarreling over me--it is what comes from
good looks." Dolores mechanically smoothed the wrinkles from her
dress and adjusted her hair. "Mark you! I shall kill myself first.
I have made up my mind to that. But it is a great pity we were not
born ugly."
Alaire could not forbear a smile, for she who thus resigned
herself to the penalties of beauty had never been well favored,
and age had destroyed what meager attractions she may have once
possessed.
Dolores went on after a time. "My Benito will not long remain
unmarried. He is like all men. More than once I have suspected him
of making eyes at young women, and any girl in the country would
marry him just for my fine silver coffee-pot and those spoons.
There is my splendid silk mantilla, with fringe half as long as
your arm, too. Oh, I have treasures enough!" She shook her head
mournfully.
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