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〃There； that's it。〃 The fan continued to move； taking its time。 The girl shifted both insteps far in underneath the chair。
〃Tell me； hija。〃 There was a pause while the fanning went on。 〃You were on your way to All Saints Cemetery； to pay your respects at your father's resting place？〃 The examination was under way。
The girl looked up from the finger she had been wrangling with。 〃It is his saint's day。 It should not be allowed to pass unnoted。 And as you were ill； I thought perhaps I'd…〃
The Seсora Viuda nodded with benevolent approval。 〃A good daughter doesn't forget her departed father。 She keeps the flowers fresh on his grave； doesn't forget to visit it。 That's as it should be。〃 The fan whirred blandly on。 〃When was the last time you were there？〃
〃Last week； I think…I don't know exactly。 Why do you ask me； mamacita？ 〃
〃I was just wondering； that is all。 Why this sudden intense fervor； this devotional passion； this locura almost。〃 The fan closed； pointed upward； descended again； reopened； went on fluttering。 〃I don't like it。 It isn't good at your age。 It isn't natural。 It is not that your papa passed from us yesterday。 It is five years ago； now； may he rest in peace。 You were thirteen then。 You loved him； you were desolated。 Bueno。 Then it passed； as it should with the young。 You were like other girls your age； you enjoyed the cine on a Sunday afternoon； having an helado in a sweetshop now and then； those things。 Now all at once this frenzy of tragic grief descends on you； excluding every other interest。 It is almost feverish； I have seen you brooding by the hour。 You cannot go often enough； nor remain long enough； at All Saints Cemetery。 You are unable to eat or sleep； unable to think of anything but the departed。 It's morbid； it's melancholy。〃
The fan never stopped a moment。 The monologue ran on； with a sort of velvety firmness that didn't raise its voice； threaten； mand。 That just stated facts。 〃It is to stop now。 No more of these visits to a burial ground。 They're not normal。 I don't understand them。 At your age one shouldn't think of the other world so constantly。〃
The girl gave her a look of almost tearful supplication。 〃Just one more time； madrecita。 Just today； and then I won't go any more…if you say so。〃
〃Very well； one more time。 Tomorrow。 Tomorrow I will feel better； I will take you myself； if you insist on going。〃
The girl looked harassed； almost terrified at the alternative。 〃But today's his saint day！ Just this once。 Look； I'm all ready to leave。 It's after halfpast four already。 I can be there and back before you know it。〃
The Seсora Viuda wagged her head darkly； in acpaniment to her fanning。 〃Always there is one time too many； daughter of my blood。 Who knows； this may be it？ Don't go； listen to your mother。 I had a dream I didn't like when I was napping just now。〃
The girl showed a momentary interest。 〃About me？ What was it about？〃
〃Only that I could hear your voice calling to me from some dark place； and I could not reach you。〃
The girl chuckled indulgently。 〃Is that all？ In school the sisters used to tell us we mustn't believe in anything like that。〃
The Seсora Viuda； who was anything but irreligious； muttered something that sounded suspiciously like； 〃Are the sisters mothers？〃
She fanned awhile longer； still withholding consent。 〃Stay here；〃 she urged。 〃Here； within the walls of your home； where you should be。 Read； sew at something； sit by the bars of the window； looking out； dreaming the dreams a young girl does。 Or go into the patio at the back； bask there in the late sun； looking at yourself in the water； doing your hair some foolish new way。 What is the worst that can happen to you here？ Only that time may drag a little。 Better that time should pass too slowly than too quick。 Tomorrow we will go out； buy you something at one of the stores； have a refresco； take in the crowd at the tables around us。〃
She sighed。 She could see it was no use； even before the answer came。 〃Go then； if you must；〃 she gave in grudgingly。 〃But today is the last time。〃 Then as the girl half started up from her chair in unleashed alacrity； a gesture of the fan stopped her short。 〃And I want one thing understood。 You are not to go there acpanied by Rosita any more。〃
The girl looked stricken。 〃But I can't go by myself！ Who else is…？〃
〃I don't trust her。 She's giddy and only a few months older than yourself； no fit panion！ I should have put a stop to it long ago。 I don't know what I've been thinking of until now。 It will be old Marta who will take you； if you go at all。〃
A look of unadulterated horror passed over the girl's face at this。 Before she could answer； a telephone had pealed distantly； in some remote room。
〃Rosita！〃 the mistress of the house called。
There was a wait that somehow suggested more a stage wait than an actual approach from a distance； and then a ely young girl…of…all…work； with a shawl already coifed around her head； materialized in the doorway； without any preliminary tread along the hall having been audible。
〃Si； seсora？〃
〃Was that the telephone just now？〃
〃The operator must have made a mistake。 Nobody answered when I got to it； there wasn't anybody on it。〃
The Seсora Viuda's horizontal brow line arched slightly； then evened out again。 〃Every now and then that seems to happen in this house。 You can take off your shawl； Rosita；〃 she added with an indifferent drawl； 〃you will not be going out。〃
The girl put her hands to it； but left it in place； as if hoping the order might yet be countermanded。 〃But the Seсorita Conchita wanted me to acpany her to…〃 she said with an odd sort of breathlessness。
〃Call Doсa Marta； she is to go with her instead。〃
The girl's black…pitted eyes were fixed on her mistress' face with a sort of tremulous fixity that somehow suggested they wanted to direct themselves at somebody else in the room； but were being restrained。 She gave a little knee dip； 〃 Si； seсora；〃 vanished from the doorway。
The Seсora Viuda turned back to her daughter。 The latter was sitting almost in the attitude of a penitent by now； her second ankle had retreated far under the chair to join the first； and she was busily engaged with both hands in pleating and smoothing out again a small section of dress over one kneecap。 She could feel her mother's gaze on her； looked up through her long lashes to confirm the impression； looked down again when she had。
Seсora Contreras said； with an odd sort of kindliness seeping through her mien of authority； 〃e here a minute； my child。〃 Conchita got up； moved to the side of the chaise longue； crouched down to the level of her mother's face。 The fan had finally stopped； for the balance of the interview； was laid aside。 The Seсora reached out； tipped up her hand to her daughter's chin； held it under it in a sort of static caress。 She looked questioningly into her eyes。
The girl's eyes never wavered； they were crystalline innocence itself。
〃I did not e into this world a middle…aged woman； a widowed mother； as you see me now； you know。 I was a young girl myself once； and not so many years ago。 Always remember； hijit