ligent companion and of an old and distinguished family. But Theresa de Cordoba, a woman of quiet good sense, had never been deceived by these surface charms.
If her mother were living, Carmelita now reflected, tenderness trembling about her little mouth, she would probably not be in her present dilemma of heart. Her mother could have imposed a quiet but firm resistance to the engagement that might, as it generally did, induce her father in the long run to abandon his long-cherished ideal of a union between the de Cordoba and Mendoza families, between his only daughter and his dearest and oldest friend.
In the matter of marriage, Don Caesar de Cordoba was wholly Spanish. A girl married the man whom her parents chose for her, and money and position and honor were the chief points to consider. Don Pablo Mendoza met these requirements admirably. And was he not, in addition, the one man whom Don Caesar had for so many years loved like a brother, the friend who, though nearly Don Caesar's own age, had compensated in some measure for the fact that there was no son and heir in the de Cordoba family? At the time of Carmelita's birth, her father had ardently wished for a son. He had not troubled to conceal his disappointment, and there had never been between
