“Dear me,” Alison did not look up, “let him find me if he can. Is he coming this way, Lolita?”
“He look you all place. No is find.”
“It won’t hurt him to hunt awhile longer. He should know that I am here.” And, indeed, Blythe did soon become aware of the fact, for it was not long before he sauntered up to the two girls.
“Well, Miss Alison,” he said, “are you turning Mexican?”
“Yes, I am fain to come over here once in a while to earn my dinner or else die of ’og and ’ominy, as old British Tom calls it. Don’t you like tortillas?”
“When they are prepared by such fair hands as yours.”
“Nonsense, that has nothing to do with it,” said Alison, unresponsive to his sentimentality. “Lolita makes them far better than I do. Did you want to see Pedro? He is out by the hog-yard, or somewhere about.”
“You know I have no business with Pedro.”
“Have you business with anybody?” asked Alison saucily.
“If you would permit it.”