“Well, Hi,” Rosa said, “how are you liking Santa Barbara?”
“Oh, I love it.”
“You came in the Recalde, of course. When did you write to mother; do you remember?”
“Yes, the day before yesterday; a few hours after I landed.”
“I thought so,” she said. “I suppose you wondered why we didn’t answer.”
“I thought you were out of town.”
“We did not receive your letter till this morning,” she said. “The censorship is on again.”
“What censorship?”
“The Government’s. You see, we are a White family. All our people are Whites, or Surplices even, the sort of purest of the pure. The Reds have been planning something unusual for some time. They have been talking about a conspiracy to kill Don Lopez and evidence of a White rebellion. They always talk like that before a devilry. Then they say that they were provoked to measures of safeguard.
“Latterly there has been no censorship of letters; but I was afraid that one had begun two or three days ago. Now I am sure of it.”