below, with an effort he recalled his duty as her host and gallantly
reminded her that moonlight and the hour seemed expressly fitted for her
promised love story.

"Do tell it," said Joan, "I don't mind hearing it again."

"Then you know it already?" said Demorest, surprised.

Joan took the cigarette from her lips, laughed complacently, and
exchanged a familiar glance with Rosita. "She told it me a year ago,
when we first knew each other," she replied. "Go on, dear," to Rosita.

Thus encouraged, Dona Rosita began, addressing herself first in Spanish
to Demorest, who understood the language better than his wife, and
lapsing into her characteristic English as she appealed to them both.
It was really very little to interest Don Ricardo--this story of a silly
muchacha like herself and a strange caballero. He would go to sleep
while she was talking, and to-night he would say to his wife, "Mother of
God! why have you brought here this chattering parrot who speaks but of
one thing?" But she would go on always like the windmill, whether there
was grain to grind or no. "It was four years ago. Ah! Don Ricardo did
not remember the country then--it was when the first Americans came--now
it is different. Then there were no coaches--in truth one travelled
very little, and always on horseback, only to see one's neighbors. And
suddenly, as if in one day, it was changed; there were strange men on
the roads, and one was frightened, and one shut the gates of the pateo
and drove the horses into the corral. One did not know much of the
Americans then--for why? They were always going, going--never stopping,
hurrying on to the gold mines, hurrying away from the gold mines,
hurrying to look for other gold mines: but always going on foot, on