And she was kind and patient with my efforts to learn.

Her name was Victoria and she kept a little shop where she and her ancestors for generations before had sold silk jusi and pina cloth.

I visited her often there and sometimes went out to her home, a beautiful big Spanish house in Calle Zarigoza.
I determined to find her and went over to her shop.

Fatal mistake! Ten years and the tropics work many changes in the soft-eyed daughters south of the fifteenth degree of latitude.
I once read a story by Pierre Loti, a sad and haunting story of how he sought, after years of absence, to find an old-time sweetheart in Stamboul.

He didn't find her and he should be grateful for his failure.
[Drawing: _Ten Years After_] I found Victoria.