“And you will use it—all, señor?”
Thorpe hesitated the fraction of a moment, then replied with some difficulty, “Certainly, señor. I will use it with the greatest pleasure.”
“Many thanks, señor. Hasta luego!” And he left the room.
“What an extraordinary custom!” exclaimed Thorpe. “I can’t use that man’s money.”
“Oh, you must! He’d be terribly cut up if you did not—think you flouted him.”
“Well, I’ll gamble with him, and let him win it back. I suppose he gambles.”
“Rather. Before he is forty the Americans will have had his last acre, and he inherits four hundred thousand. They have not even the soil in which to plant a business instinct, these Californians. I am glad you have come in time. They are worth seeing, and their like will never be seen again.”
“I should think they were worth seeing. What did Doña Prudencia mean by saying that Diego Estenega killed her husband?”
“There was a fight to the death between them, and it was one or the other. Chonita, to the surprise of everybody, and to the horror of some—including the clergy—married Estenega at once, and went with him to Mexico. The old gentleman was in a towering rage, but forgave them later and visited them several times. He had large sums of money invested in Mexico which he left to Chonita. His Californian estates he left to young Reinaldo, whom he idolised. Estenega had had great hopes and plans in connection with this country which were dashed by Iturbi y Moncada’s death. However, it was as well, for he is now one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the Mexican government, and has been ambassador or minister abroad several times. But my wife will tell you the whole story when you come to visit us. Perhaps she will read it to you, for she has made a novel out of it, which may or may not be published after the death of all concerned. Here is your trunk. I’ll leave you to clean up.”