"All is well," she said, returning to her chair. "I see nothing more to be done. Thy brother will bring the emeralds, and the English plate will come before the week is over."
"Is it sure that Santiago will come in time for the wedding?" asked a half-English granddaughter, whose voice broke suddenly at her own temerity.
But Doña Jacoba was in a gracious mood.
"Surely. Has not Don Roberto gone to meet him? He will be here at four to-day."
"How glad I shall be to see him!" said Francisca. "Just think, my friends, I have not seen him for seven years. Not since he was eleven years old. He has been on that cold dreadful island in the North all this time. I wonder has he changed!"
"Why should he change?" asked Doña Jacoba. "Is he not a Cortez and a
Duncan? Is he not a Californian and a Catholic? Can a few years in an
English school make him of another race? He is seven years older, that
is all."
"True," assented Francisca, threading her needle; "of course he could not change."
Doña Jacoba opened a large fan and wielded it with slow curves of her strong wrist. She had never been cold in her life, and even a June day oppressed her.
"We have another guest," she said in a moment—"a young man, Don Dario Castañares of Los Robles Rancho. He comes to buy cattle of my husband, and must remain with us until the bargain is over."
Several of the girls raised their large black eyes with interest. "Don Dario Castañares," said one; "I have heard of him. He is very rich and very handsome, they say."