For one hour she was asleep to all her charge did, and Isabel was in her own room when the precious sixty minutes were over.

Happy?
So happy that her soul seemed to have pushed her body aside, as a thing not to be taken into account.

She sang like a bird for very gladsomeness.

It was impossible for her to be still, and as she went about her room with little dancing, balancing movements of her hands and feet, Antonia knew that they were keeping their happy rhythmic motion to the melody love sang in her heart.
And she rejoiced with her little sister, though she was not free from a certain regret for her concession, for it is the after-reckoning with conscience that is so disagreeably strict and uncomfortable.

And yet, why make an element of anger and suspicion between Isabel and her mother when there appeared to be no cause to do so?
Don Luis was going away.