The senorita slid from sobbing into slumber, and her dreams were pleasant, so that she woke smiling.

That night she sang a love-song to Jose, behind the passion vines; and her eyes were soft; and when young Don Jose pulled her fingers from the guitar strings and kissed them many times, her only rebuke was such a pursing of lips that they were kissed also for their mutiny.
After awhile the senorita sang again, while Jose, his neck held a little to one side because of his hurt, watched her worshipfully, and forgot how much he had suffered because of her.

She was seventeen, you see, and she was lovely to look upon; and as for a heart--perhaps she would develop one later..