"We expect many things in this world that we do not get."

"But--a thousand apologies for my presumption, señorita--why did you not
write and tell him?"

"I never write letters."

"But you could have sent word by some friend travelling to San
Francisco, señorita."

"He would find it out in good time. Why hurry?"

"Ay, señorita, well are you named Doña Coquetta. You are famous even to
San Francisco. I will return to my poor friend. At your service, señora.
At your service, señorita," and he bowed himself out, and galloped away.

Doña Pomposa threw herself into her chair, and wept aloud.

"Mother of God! I had thought to see her married to a thrifty American!
What have I done to be punished with so heartless a child? And the
Americans will have all the money! The little I have will go, too! We
shall be left sitting in the street. And we might have a wooden house in
San Francisco, and go to the theatre! Oh, Mother of God, why dost thou
not soften the heart of the wicked--"

Eulogia slipped out of the window, and went into the mission gardens.
She walked slowly through the olive groves, lifting her arms to part
the branches where the little purple spheres lay in their silver nests.
Suddenly she came face to face with Pablo Ignestria.