"Well, if you really think--" said Blandina, who always thought exactly
as Benicia did. She opened a door and called:--

"Flujencio."

"Well, my sister?"

A dreamy-looking young man in short jacket and trousers of red silk
entered the room, sombrero in one hand, a cigarito in the other.

"Flujencio, you know it is said that these 'Yankees' always 'whittle'
everything. We are afraid they will spoil the furniture to-night; so
tell one of the servants to cut a hundred pine slugs, and you go down
to the store and buy a box of penknives. Then they will have plenty to
amuse themselves with and will not cut the furniture."

"True! True! What a good idea! Was it Benicia's?" He gave her a glance
of languid adoration. "I will buy those knives at once, before I forget
it," and he tossed the sombrero on his curls and strode out of the
house.

"How dost thou like the Señor Lieutenant Russell, Benicia?"

Benicia lifted her chin, but her cheeks became very pink.

"Well enough. But he is like all the Americans, very proud, and thinks
too well of his hateful country. But I shall teach him how to flirt. He
thinks he can, but he cannot."

"Thou canst do it, Benicia--look! look!"