voice changed from its tone of slight caressing pleading to one of
suppressed pride. "HE will not laugh much, Captain Carroll; truly,
no."

The figure of Garnier, bright, self-possessed, courteous, appeared
at the opening of the labyrinth. Too well-bred to suggest, even in
complimentary raillery, a possible sentimental situation, his
politeness went further. It was so kind in them to guide an
awkward stranger by their voices to the places where he could not
stupidly intrude!

"You are just in time to interrupt or to hear a story that I have
been threatening to tell," she said, composedly; "an old Spanish
legend of this house. You are in the majority now, you two, and
can stop me if you choose. Thank you. I warn you it is stupid; it
isn't new; but it has the excuse of being suggested by this very
spot." She cast a quick look of subtle meaning at Carroll, and
throughout her recital appealed more directly to him, in a manner
delicately yet sufficiently marked to partly soothe his troubled
spirit.

"Far back, in the very old times, Caballeros," said Maruja,
standing by the table in mock solemnity, and rapping upon it with
her fan, "this place was the home of the coyote. Big and little,
father and mother, Senor and Senora Coyotes, and the little
muchacho coyotes had their home in the dark canada, and came out
over these fields, yellow with wild oats and red with poppies, to
seek their prey. They were happy. For why? They were the first;
they had no history, you comprehend, no tradition. They married as
they liked" (with a glance at Carroll), "nobody objected; they