was looking at him with cold hauteur. Her mouth was as hard as a pink
jewel, and her eyes had the glitter of ice in them.

"Señor," she said, "it seems to me that you, too, waste many words--in
speaking of my brother; for what you say of him cannot interest me.
I have known him for twenty-two years; you have seen him four or six
times. What can you tell me of him? Not only is he my brother and the
natural object of my love and devotion, but he is Reinaldo Iturbi y
Moncada, the last male descendant of his house, and as such I hold him
in a regard only second to that which I bear to my father. And with
the blood in him he could not be otherwise than a great and good man."

Estenega looked at her with the first stab of doubt he had felt. "She
is Spanish in her marrow," he thought,--"the steadfast unreasoning
child of traditions. I could not well be at greater disadvantage. But
she is magnificent."

"Another thing which was unnecessary," she added, "was to defend
yourself to me or to tell me how you felt toward my brother, and why.
We are enemies by tradition and instinct. We shall rarely meet, and
shall probably never talk together again."

"We shall talk together more times than you will care to count. I
have much to say to you, and you shall listen. But we will discuss the
matter no further at present. Shall we gallop?"

He spurred his horse, and once more they fled through the pine woods.
Before long they entered the valley of Carmelo. The mountains were
massive and gloomy, the little bay was blue and quiet, the surf of
the ocean roared about Point Lobos, Carmelo River crawled beneath