"I do not know."

The tumult in Concha turned to wrath, and she
lifted flashing eyes to his moody face. "Do you
presume to say you are jealous because you think
I love him--a stranger I have known but a week--
who looks upon me as a child--who has never--
never thought--" But her dignity, flying to the
rescue, assumed control. Her upper lip curled, her
body stiffened for a moment, and she went on with
her stitching. "You deserve I should rap your silly
little skull with my thimble. You are no better
than Ignacio and Fernando. Such scenes as I have
had with them! They wanted to fight the Russian!
How he would laugh at them! I have threatened
they shall both be sent to San Diego if there is any
more nonsense." Then curiosity overcame her.
"You never had the least, least reason to think I
would marry you, and now, according to your own
words, you think you have less. Then why, pray,
did you address me?"

"Because I am a man, I suppose. I could not
sit tamely down and see you go."

She looked at him with a slight access of interest.
A man? Perhaps he was, after all. And his well-
bred, bony face looked very determined, albeit the
eyes were wistful. Suddenly she felt sorry for
him; and she had never experienced a pang of sym-