It occurred to Antonio that in neither of the letters was a date given for Sir Percy's return to the guest-house. He was on the point of asking Isabel whether it was mentioned in Mr. Crowberry's bulletin; but he saw that the question could be interpreted in an uncouth sense, and therefore he did not put it. The answer, however, was writ plain in Isabel's face. He swiftly analyzed her cheerfulness into two principal components—her thankfulness for Sir Percy's improved health and her relief at the prolongation of her liberty. Isabel's laugh was more free and gay. She seemed to be more of a girl and less of a woman. Indeed, for a few minutes, she became almost a child. For a while she stood hurling stones into the heart of the waterfall, as into the white down and iridescent feathers of a great bird's breast; and as soon as she wearied of this exercise she began to sail boats of cork-bark down the hurrying waters of the pool, scolding or encouraging her favorite as if it had been alive.
When Isabel at last sat down she demanded, with her usual abruptness:
"Why have you never told me about the Portuguese ladies—about the senhoritas? I'm tired of Dom Miguel and Dom Pedro, and Affonso Henriques and the Cardinal-King. As for growing grapes, by this time I know as much about it as you do. Talk to me about the senhoritas."
"What can I say about them," objected Antonio, "except that they are exceedingly beautiful, exceedingly virtuous, and exceedingly charming."
"And exceedingly dull," she said. "But be serious. Answer me. Is it true that Portuguese men are only half Christians? Is it true that, where women are concerned, you are out-and-out Moors? Don't you all look on women either as toys or as slaves?"
"If young Mr. Crowberry were here," retorted Antonio, "he would tell you how we tie up the ladies of our harems in sacks and drop them into the Tagus."
"I'm glad young Mr. Crowberry is hundreds of miles away," she declared. "When I've the patience to listen to him, I admit some of his satire is clever. But he bores me. I mean, he annoys me. I suppose it's because we've both got yellow hair."
"You have not got yellow hair," said Antonio.
"Never mind what sort of hair I've got. Tell me about the senhoritas. How do they spend their time?"
"Perhaps they could answer themselves—though I doubt it," he said. "People say they eat and drink and sleep; they dress and go to church; and, the rest of the time, they look out of the window."