"I am weary of Don Abrahan's importunities," Helena said. Tell him that."
"I will carry no such word to Don Abrahan!" Doña Carlota returned.
"Let him wait, then."
Doña Carlota came back with all the haste she could impose on her fat legs, with all the severity she could summon out of her colorless soul.
"Aga magistrate, Don Abrahan commands your attendance," she said. "He trusts, for the dignity of this house, that it will not be necessary to say more. Will you see me humbled, called like a servant"
Helena seemed to push the words back into her aunt's mouth with the impatient sweep of her hand as she rose to obey the magistrate's summons. She stood a moment to look again out of the window as if to take farewell of a familiar and well-loved scene. When she passed slowly out of the room, head bent as if she walked under a heavy penance, Doña Carlota hastened to the window to see for herself what there might be in that fascinating landscape to hold a girl's eyes and make them reluctant to turn away.
There was the yellow road at the head of the lane of olive trees, where it curved eastward to strike the pass into the valley which they had left but a few hours since. There was bitterness, and there was scorn in Doña Carlota's voice as she spoke, beating her finger-ends against the small thick window-pane.
