From the walk to the house the girl had adroitly turned their steps toward the courtyard gate. Filipo, the porter, pressed a lever. The gate swung ajar. Fifty paces away, comfortably waiting under some shade trees, were the señora's attendant peons. At a word from Filipo they sprang to horse and rode to the gate in jiglike trot.
"Now, Señora Valentino," the girl said, "I shall leave word with my servants that, if you call again, they are to announce to you that I am not at home."
A peon had brought the señora's horse. Kneeling he held the stirrup for her. Nimbly she found her seat. The animal pranced gracefully from side to side. She swung him toward the gate.
"Adios!" she called to Carmelita.
The señorita's trim, straight figure was disappearing behind the slowly closing gate.
"A thousand thanks, my courteous hostess."
Señora Valentino made her way along the San José road. For several hundred yards she rode in deep thought, a storm of counter currents rushing over her.
"Anyway," she reflected, "Morando's course of true love has not been made more smooth by my visit this day." The accompanying laugh was not a mirthful one.