"But," hinted the Maestro, "maybe Señor Ledesma does not want to marry."
"That does not matter at all," said the Maestra, crisply. "If we will be Americans, we must adopt the American costumbres. There is a story in this paper—it does not matter at all; Señor Ledesma is very bashful, but this is leapa-year day."
Just then the rice rose in a foaming surge and began to trickle down the black rotundity of the pot. The Maestra sprang up with agile grace, and with a few dexterous sweeps of her little feet scattered the fire of twigs. "Will you have some breakfast?" she asked the Maestro, sweetly.
But during this movement the Maestro's brain had been working swiftly, and he had decided upon a change of base.
"Your assistant, Felicia, is becoming a very able teacher," he remarked, nonchalantly.
"Yes, she is a very good teacher," agreed the Maestra; but there was no emphasis on her adjective.
"This morning," went on the Maestro, "she was teaching the children. She said, 'Do you see the hat?' and she pointed to the pear tree."
"’Sus-Maria-Joseph!" exclaimed the Maestra; "she said that? But it is barbarous! The children, they will unlearn all that I learned them! It is—what you call?—it is impossible!"
