“When the good God wills,” responded the old woman, piously.
After all, she could see but little amiss with this stranger. He had a speech and manner which reminded her of her beloved, lost Doña Mary, though she knew that he could not be of that young mistress’s kin.
He presently observed, insinuatingly:
“That settle against the window, yonder, looks inviting.”
“The veranda is cooler, yes.”
“Then, by all means, let us sit there.”
He certainly was courteous. No gentleman of old Castile could have been more deferential. He was fully equal in graciousness to Señor Adrian, himself; and, after all—the podrida was gone! That charge the saints had taken off an old woman’s hands, yes. If there was no supper—Pouf! there was still bread in the buttery and fruit in plenty. With the master at home, there would have been fowls to kill and cook; yet—for this fair-speaking stranger? Of that Marta was not so sure; any more than she was sure of her regret for the lost podrida. In any case, she now willingly took the place upon the settle which the young man had earlier indicated.
“Have you lived here always, Madam?” he began.
“Always, Señor.”
“Then you must have known Mrs. Manuel.”