It was easy for him to see that Señorita Maria Yuste was still
considered by her dependents as a superior being, one far removed from
them by the divinity of caste that hedged her in. They gave her service;
and she, on her part, looked out for their needs, and was the patron
saint to whom they brought all their troubles.

It was an indolent, happy life the peons on the estate led, patriarchal
in its nature, and far removed from the throb of the money-mad world.
They had enough to eat and to wear. There was a roof over their heads.
There were girls to be loved, dances to be danced, and guitars to be
strummed. Wherefore, then, should the young men feel the spur of an
ambition to take the world by the throat and wring success from it?

It had been more years than he could remember since this young American
had taken a real holiday except for an occasional fishing trip on the
Gunnison or into Wyoming. He had lived a life of activity. Now for the
first time he learned how to be lazy. To dawdle indolently on one of the
broad porches, while Miss Yuste sat beside him and busied herself over
some needlework, was a sensuous delight that filled him with content. He
felt that he would like to bask there in the warm sunshine forever.
After all, why should he pursue wealth and success when love and
laughter waited for him in this peaceful valley chosen of the gods?

The fourth morning of his arrival he hobbled out to the south porch
after breakfast, to find his hostess in corduroy skirt, high laced
boots, and pinched-in sombrero. She was drawing on a pair of driving
gauntlets. One of the stable boys was standing beside a rig he had just
driven to the house.

The young woman flung a flashing smile at her guest.