Then from
the top of the stairs there sounded a soft voice:
"_Padre_--father!"
Don Lucas dropped his work and stepped into the parlor.
There was a swish, a click of high heels on the stairs, a flash of
red, with a momentary glimpse of white, and the girl stood before us.
The father spoke:
"_Senores_, my daughter."
She bent low and then arose, smiling as her father had smiled, showing
the white of her teeth. She was dressed all in red, from the roses in
her black hair to her tiny, outrageously high-heeled Spanish slippers.
The hair was parted in the middle and drawn back, giving an almost
child-like expression to the handsome face with its snapping black
eyes and full red lips. Under the dark wave behind each ear she had
effectively pinned a cluster of rose-buds. Over her gleaming shoulders
she had thrown a scarf of the thinnest red silk, and a similar scarf,
fringed with black lace, was drawn about her hips and knotted at the
left side. The heavily ruffled skirts fell within a few inches of the
floor, but as she turned they swung higher, showing her slippers and a
bit of red silk-covered ankle.
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