Suddenly bending forward she waved something long and black under Nero’s nose, who reared and settled on his haunches in a way to test a less experienced rider.
“What do you mean, child––” began that irate gentleman, but pausing at sight of the object she held.
“I think this a plume from Beppo’s wing, don’t you, Antonio?”
He muttered something under his breath, and she went on, explaining:
“I found it in the canyon, just after Ferd has gone up it. I knew it in a minute, for I was looking Beppo over yesterday, and I never saw such perfect feathers on any bird. How do you suppose it came there, and why?”
“The fool! One of the very best. How dared he. But suppose I’ll have to admit he stole it. I don’t see how, though, for I did the work myself. Give it to me, senorita; I’ll put it with the others.”
Somehow, when Antonio was sauve “our Lady Jess” liked him less than when he was sharp of speech. His native “senorita” jarred on her ear, though she blamed herself for her injustice, nor did she yield him the feather.
“Not yet, please. I’m going to show it to mother. She’ll be so delighted to know the plucking was a rich one; and if Ferd did steal this, or has others in his basket, of course you’ll make him bring them back.”
“Of course,” answered Antonio, though he frowned and searched her face with his black eyes as if to read all her suspicions.
But as Jessica was not suspicious; she was vaguely troubled, as if she had come into some dark and unknown world. Surely Antonio was able to clear off all these little mysteries, and she checked him again as he was about to ride on.