"No." Doña Pomposa dropped her spoon; she dearly loved a bit of gossip.
"What was it?"
"You know that a year ago Elena went home to Los Quervos and begged Don Roberto and Doña Jacoba on her knees to forgive her, and they did, and were glad to do it. Doña Jacoba was with her when she was so ill at the last, and just before she died Elena said: 'Mother, in that chest you will find a legacy from me. It is all of my own that I have in the world, and I leave it to you. Do not take it until I am dead.' And what do you think it was? The greenhide reata."
"Mother of God! But Jacoba must have felt as if she were already in purgatory."
"It is said that she grew ten years older in the night."
"May the saints be praised, my child can leave me no such gift. But all men are not like Dario Castañares. I would have thee marry an American. They are smart and know how to keep the gold. Remember, I have little now, and thou canst not be young forever."
"I have seen no American I would marry."
"There is Don Abel Hudson."
"I do not trust that man. His tongue is sweet and his face is handsome, but always when I meet him I feel a little afraid, although it goes away in a minute. The Señor Dumas says that a woman's instincts—"
"To perdition with Señor Dumas! Does he say that a chit's instincts are
better than her mother's? Don Abel throws about the money like rocks.
He has the best horses at the races. He tells me that he has a house in
Yerba Buena—"
"San Francisco. And I would not live in that bleak and sandy waste. Did you notice how he limped at the ball last night?"