her mother's side, kissed her on the forehead, and then lightly
perched herself like a white dove on the railing. Mrs.
Saltonstall, a dark, corpulent woman, redeemed only from coarseness
by a certain softness of expression and refinement of gesture,
raised her heavy brown eyes to her daughter's face.

"You have not been to bed, Mara?"

"No, dear. Do I look it?"

"You must lie down presently. They tell me that Captain Carroll
returned suddenly this morning."

"Do you care?"

"Who knows? Amita does not seem to fancy Jose, Esteban, Jorge, or
any of her cousins. She won't look at Juan Estudillo. The Captain
is not bad. He is of the government. He is--"

"Not more than ten leagues from here," said Maruja, playing with
the Captain's note in her belt. "You can send for him, dear little
mother. He will be glad."

"You will ever talk lightly--like your father! She was not then
grieved--our Amita--eh?"

"She and Dorotea and the two Wilsons went off with Raymond and your
Scotch friend in the wagonette. She did not cry--to Raymond."

"Good," said Mrs. Saltonstall, leaning back in her hammock.