Drowsily, Myra opened her eyes, awakened by the clatter made by Madre
Dolores as she set down a tray on which was a breakfast of coffee and
rolls by her bedside.

"Buenos dias, señorita," said Dolores, as Myra, unable to realise for a
few moments where she was, blinked at her sleepily and dazedly.

"Buenos dias," repeated Myra mechanically. "Let me see, that is
Spanish for 'good morning,'" she added to herself, stretching
luxuriously and yawning. "I wonder where the maid is who speaks
English?"

And then the mists of sleep lifted suddenly as she sat up in bed and
she remembered everything vividly. Dolores, eyeing her curiously,
wondered why the English señorita blushed furiously, wondered what she
could have said to cause the fair señorita such obvious embarrassment.

"Possibly it is not anything I have said which caused her to blush,"
reflected the old woman. "Maybe she is thinking of last night,
remembering that I saw the master carrying her to bed, or perhaps she
is thinking of something that happened afterwards."

Dolores was not so wide of the mark. It was recollection of the events
of the preceding night that had brought the burning blush to Myra's
cheeks, and the thought of the interpretation the old woman might have
put on what she had seen and heard.

"Just as well, perhaps, that she does not understand English, as she
was probably eavesdropping all the time," thought Myra.