The señora lowered her eyes, and bowed gently.
"Our lives are empty; yours, because it has never been filled. Hence there is greater hope for you than for me."
"What do you mean, Captain?"
"You have been frank with me. I will be the same with you. Fate brought me to far-away California. I chanced to meet the one who from the first filled my heart, my soul. I sang beneath her window. She laughed. Sometimes I thought she encouraged me. Sometimes, again, she flouted me. Nevertheless, I dared hope she cared for me. Now I know she did not."
The Captain paused in thought.
The señora did not speak.
Finally Morando continued: "More than once I tried to tell her I loved her, but she held me at arm's length. The night of the baile, at Mission San José, I believed my opportunity had come. She listened to me, favorably I was sure; but there was an interruption from her partner for the next dance. When again she was alone I pressed my suit. It was in vain. She seemed changed—offended. Yesterday I was at her father's house. I talked with her. At first she listened most graciously; then, in some way, I offended her still more. I am speaking of the Señorita Carmelita Mendoza, señora."
"Captain," came slowly from the señora, "we were speaking the other day of the face of the window pane in old Pilar Convent."
"I shall never forget, my dear señora."
"That face called in you to the primeval love every man has for an ideal woman. For her your heart had been unconsciously searching. The Señorita Mendoza seemed to you to fulfill that ideal. You went to her with words of love. She could not reciprocate. Does it not mean that you must look beyond the beautiful child of Señor Mendoza for the realization of your heart's desires?"