Pilar was dancing in the Murillo (m[+u]-r[)i]l´[=o]) Garden. It was a beautiful public garden named after the great Spanish painter, Murillo, who died in a house near by. Pilar had been born ten years ago in this old city of Seville (s[+e]-v[)i]l´). If you had asked Pilar, "Where is New York?" she would doubtless have laughed with her lovely dark eyes and inquired, "Is it in Seville?" Because, to Pilar, as to most of her friends, there was only one world, and that world was Seville.…
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