Mr. Calthorp rose and advanced carefully in the direction of the door, extending his hand toward the new-comer, whom he immediately presented to Lord Plunkett; and, while these gentlemen were exchanging civilities, he turned sharply upon old Vives, whom he could hear rustling about near him. “Where have you been so long, Sutro? We have not seen you since dinner. His lordship has inquired for you several times.”
“Si? He does the least of his household too great respect,” answered the Spaniard, with haughty accent.
“Come, come, Sutro, don’t be foolish! It would be wiser of you to conciliate both him and the new ‘boss.’ They can easily turn you adrift, and you are an old man. From the tone of your voice, I judge that you are angry. That is senseless, and I am sorry. I wish to feel that one as fond of my little daughter as you are will be quite happy and comfortable when we are gone.”
“I bow myself in obligation to thee, Señor Calthorp,” responded the old Castilian, servilely. But his mood was neither servile nor happy; and, as the retiring manager turned once more toward his successor, he sought the cozy corner of the office which Steenie called her own, and where she sat by her pretty shaded lamp, sorting her picture-books.
“Hola, my Little Un! But I have put a thorn in his shirt, no? Trust old Sutro!”
“How? What do you mean? And surely I can trust you to do ’most anything hateful when you look such a way! What have you done now, Sutro Vives? Tell me that!”
“Hi, hi, hi! maybe no. Si? Dost thou wish to go from San’ Felisa to the land of snow and ice and no sunshine? Answer thou me that!”
“You know I don’t wish it; but I must, that is all. But, wait, how do you happen to know anything at all about it? You ran away directly after dinner, and now you’ve just come in!”
“Pouf! thinkest thou an old caballero knows nothing but what a baby tells him? I have known for—this—long—time all that has been planned for the little señ’rita. Si! Lo dicho dicho [what I have said I have said].”
For a moment Steenie was silent, unable to answer this argument. Then she cried triumphantly: “But you need not tell me that. A ‘long time’ may be from this very mid-day that ever was, but from no longer. Does anybody at San’ Felis’ ever tell Sutro Vives secrets? In verity, no; for Suzan´ says you are a sieve that holds nothing. At the Natividad, poor dear old caballero, with a word they don’t want spoken? Why, nobody. And if you’d known about my father’s eyes and all, you’d have told me the very first minute! You would so, my Sutro, you couldn’t have helped it!” clapping her hands.