"Afraid of him—why?" asked Kennedy.
There was no more reticence. Once having said so much, she seemed to feel that she must go on and tell her fears.
"Because," she went on, "he—he knows a woman—whom my father knew." A sudden flash of fire seemed to light up her dark eyes. "A woman of Truxillo," she continued, "Senora de Moche."
"De Moche," repeated Kennedy, recalling the name and a still unexplained incident of our first interview. "Who is this Senora de Moche?" he asked, studying her as if she had been under a lens.
"A Peruvian of an old Indian family," she replied, in a low tone, as if
the words were forced from her. "She has come to New York with her son,
Alfonso. You remember—you met him. He is studying here at the
University."
Again I noted the different manner in which she spoke the two names of mother and son. Evidently there was some feud, some barrier between her and the elder woman, which did not extend to Alfonso.
Kennedy reached for the University catalogue and found the name, "Alfonso de Moche." He was, as he had told us, a post-graduate student in the engineering school and, therefore, not in any of Kennedy's own classes.
"You say your father knew the Senora?" asked Kennedy.
"Yes," she replied, in a low voice, "he had had some dealings with her.
I cannot say just what they were; I do not know. Socially, of course,
it was different. They did not belong to the same circle as ours in
Lima."
From her tone I gathered that there existed a race prejudice between those of old Spanish descent and the descendants of the Indians. That, however, could not account for her attitude. At least with her the prejudice did not extend to Alfonso.