Angela was always the same--frank, open, and joyous, and, except that her caresses were reserved for him, made no difference between the abbe and me.
"A _chirimoya_ for your thoughts, senor!" said a well-known voice, in musical Castilian.

"For these three minutes I have been standing close by you, with this freshly gathered chirimoya, and you took no notice of me." "A thousand pardons and a thousand thanks, senorita!" I answered, taking the proffered fruit.

"But my thoughts were worth all the chirimoyas in the world, delicious as they are, for they were of you." "We were thinking of each other then." "What! Were you thinking of me ?" "_Si, senor._" "And what were you thinking, senorita ?" "That God was very good in sending you to Quipai." "Why ?" "For several reasons." "Tell me them." "Because you have done the abbe good.

Aforetime he was often sad.

You remember his saying that he had cares.