With loose treachery the kimono sleeves had slipped back and he could feel the soft coolness of her forearms on his neck and cheeks; wherefore it is not to be wondered at that he found difficulty in guessing whom she might be. Jake, Sliver, Maria, Teresa, Lovell, the ancianos, he was enumerating by name all the women, children, cats, and dogs of the hacienda when she cut him off.
“Your stupidity is suspicious, sir. But it punishes itself. If you had guessed right I might have given you a—”
He took it—in triplicate, then pulled her down on his knee. “To my father and mother,” he replied to her question. “I thought it was about time I dropped them a line—haven’t written home since I came down.”
“What?” She uttered a small shocked scream. “You’ve let them suffer all this time in suspense and alarm?”
He looked up in innocent surprise. “Why should they suffer? I didn’t.”
He hadn’t? Her hands went up, appealing to the wide heavens against such utter lack of imagination—but dropped again quickly, owing to a second base treachery on the part of the sleeves.
“Oh, you men! What fools women are ever to bother about you. You didn’t suffer? Oooooh!” She pulled his ear till he yelled. “If you ever dare to treat me like that!”
“That would be impossible, for you see we shall always be together.”
After he had placed the customary seals on this affidavit of intent, she asked: “But why this sudden plunge into correspondence—after such long abstinence?”
“To inform them,” he replied, with great dignity, “of a certain momentous change impending in my condition.”