Mrs. Castleton shrugged her shoulders, tapped her horse, and bounded ahead. They raced for a mile before she allowed him to regain his place at her side. “Granting that you’re right, Francisquita,” he said, “what makes you think so?”
“Why, Ned, it’s perfectly plain. I’ve seen Lena pave the way for too many flirtations not to know exactly what she’s doing now. And she’s preparing to have a perfectly furious affair with Mr. Conrad.”
Castleton kept discreet silence for some moments and studied the horizon. When he turned again to his wife he asked, “Well, dear, what are you going to do about it?”
Francisquita Castleton was half Mexican, and on her mother’s side could trace descent through a long line of dons back to a valiant governor and captain-general of the province who had done great deeds nearly two hundred years before. Her heritage had dowered her well with the instinctive coquetry, the supple, unconscious grace, the feminine, artless art that are the birthright of the women of Spanish blood. All of it was in the movement of her arm, the turn of her neck, and the poise of her head as she raised her veil and lifted her face toward her husband. Her voice was as soft as velvet and as caressing as an infant’s palm as she exclaimed:
“Do anything? I? Why, Ned Castleton, how you surprise me! Why should I interfere with Lena’s whims?”
Castleton laughed. “Ask me something easy, Fanny! I’m sure I don’t know why you should, but I’ve noticed that Lena’s plans sometimes shrivel up like a stuck balloon. Of course, it may be mere chance.”
“No, Ned; it isn’t chance at all. It’s only because Lena doesn’t plan carefully enough.”
He took time for reflection. “I say, Francisquita,” he presently broke out, “if you’re right about this—and I must admit you don’t often miss it about Lena—it may be a serious matter.”
“Of course I’m right, Ned. You’ll soon see for yourself just how things are going. You know Lena likes admiration and she likes having her own way and she dearly loves making Turner jealous and she’s positively unhappy if every man in sight isn’t prancing along in her train. Mr. Conrad is a fine-looking young man, and he made a very good appearance when she saw him in San Francisco last year. I suppose she thought he didn’t yield to her fascinations as he should, so she decided to come down here and gather him in. She knows she’ll be awfully bored unless she can make her flirtation with him—well—ardent enough to keep her interested. I know enough about Lena to see that she’s planning to have an affair that will keep her and Turner and Mr. Conrad simply sizzling as long as we stay.”