"Very well; come with me and thou shalt know him.—Wilt thou come too,
Eustaquia? There are only men on the corridor."
We found Diego and Don Guillermo talking politics in a corner, both deeply interested. Estenega rose at once.
"Don Diego Estenega," said Chonita, "I would present you to the
Señorita Doña Valencia Menendez, of the Rancho del Fuego."
Estenega bowed. "I have heard much of Doña Valencia, and am delighted to meet her."
Valencia was nonplussed for a moment; he had not given her the customary salutation, and she could hardly murmur the customary reply. She merely smiled and looked so handsome that she could afford to dispense with words.
"A superb type," said Estenega to me, as Don Guillermo claimed the beauty's attention for a moment. "But only a type; nothing distinctive."
Nevertheless, ten minutes later, Valencia, with the manoeuvring of the general of many a battle, had guided him to a seat in the sala under Doña Trinidad's sleepy wing, and her eyes were flashing the language of Spain to his. I saw Chonita watch them for a moment, in mingled surprise and doubt, then saw a sudden look of fear spring to her eyes as she turned hastily and walked away.
Again I shared her room,—the thirty rooms and many in the out-buildings were overflowing with guests who had come a hundred leagues or less,—and after we had been in bed a half-hour, Chonita, overcome by the insinuating power of that time-honored confessional, told me of her meeting with Estenega at the Mission. I made few comments, but sighed; I knew him so well. "It will be strange to even seem to be friends with him," she added,—"to hate him in my heart and yet delight to talk with him, and perhaps to regret when he leaves."
"Are you sure that you still hate him?"
She sat up in bed. The solid wooden shutters were closed, but over the door was a small square aperture, and through this a stray moonbeam drifted and fell on her. Her hair was tumbling about her shoulders, and she looked decidedly less statuesque than usual.