"Good Lord!" was all young Jones could say, and he put his hand to his head.
"John Alden spoke for Miles Standish, an' they wasn't even related," Uncle Henry tried to placate the other.
The horse on the road, unknown to the men, had reached the adobe. Lucia Pell, radiant as a prairie flower, appeared at the door. She wore a riding-habit that fit her to perfection, and her hair, tumbled a bit by the soft breeze, fell around her face in a cascade of golden loveliness. Her eyes sparkled. She was the picture of glorious health and youth—a woman born for love and loving. She brought fragrance into the room.
"Hello, Gil!" she said, beating her riding-crop on her boot, and smiling that entrancing smile of hers. She was glad to see her handsome host again after her brisk ride.
"Good morning, Lucia," Gilbert said, hardly daring to look at her.
Uncle Henry didn't mean to be overlooked. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Pell," he said, meaningly.
"Why, it is afternoon, isn't it?" she laughed.
"It's darn near night," Uncle Henry rasped.
"And I'm simply famished. Who wouldn't be, after such a glorious ride!" Lucia said.