Man, there were times when he became so angry his eyes were filled with fire, so hot they did all sorts of wonderful things to her. Then she helped him get rid of the anger and they were both happy in their exhaustion, and Bernardo spoke to her in the lowest, sweetest whispers.

“You’ve got to stand still,” she warned Maria, “otherwise you’re liable to get a pin you know where.”

“You’ll do something about the neck?”

“The neck’s all right. All the girls I know should have such lovely necks.”

“I’m talking about this dress,” Maria protested. “Two, three inches what difference does it make?”

“Too much difference,” Anita snapped and rolled her eyes expressively to make Maria laugh.

“You’re making this dress over for me to dance in,” the younger girl argued. “To dance in,” she repeated. “It’s no longer for kneeling in front of an altar.”

Anita placed another pin in the hem. “With those boys you can start in dancing and end up kneeling, begging them to take you to the altar.”

“If not three inches or two inches—one inch.” Maria showed how little this was between her thumb and forefinger. “One little, little inch.”

“Bernardo made me promise,” Anita sighed. From her place on the floor, she could see the graceful slenderness of Maria’s legs. Lucky girl… she would never have to shave her legs and be forever committed to using creams and lotions to keep the skin soft. “It’s not me,” she explained to Maria. “Bernardo made me promise to take care of you. And that includes altering the dress.”

“Bernardo made you promise,” Maria scoffed. “I’ve been here one month now, and still he walks me in the morning to the shop. And if Chino can’t meet me, Bernardo comes to walk me home. Sew all day and sit all night,” she complained. “Just what I did in Puerto Rico.”

“You were a little girl in Puerto Rico and you’re not much older here.”

“Is that so?” Maria said. “If I’m a little girl, how come it’s been arranged for me to marry Chino?”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” Anita explained. “You’re old enough to get married, but not old enough to wear a low neckline.”

“But I’ll be old enough not to wear any clothes,” Maria continued, then hid her face because she had to blush and laugh at the same time. “You mustn’t tell anyone I said such a thing, not even Chino.”

“Certainly not Chino,” Anita said. “How is it”—she fluttered her hands—“does your heart do that even when you look at him?”

Maria shook her head. “When I look at Chino nothing happens.”

Anita groaned as she got to her feet. “What did you expect to happen?”

“I don’t know.” Maria was serious. “Something, I guess. He’s nice, but… he’s nice.” She took several steps to stand before the mirror and see how long the dress would be. It was an inch below her knees, but enough of her legs showed to please her. Now if she could only get Anita to do something about the neck, and one way to do it was to keep Anita talking about other things. “What happens when you look at Bernardo?”