"You overestimate me," answered Coronado, with a smile which was almost ironical.
Before long Clara appeared. Garcia's eye darted a look at her which was like the spring of an adder, dwelling for just a second on the girl's face, and then scuttling off in an uncleanly, poisonous way for hiding corners. He saw that she was thin, and believed to a certain extent in Coronado's hints of poison, so that his glance was more cowardly than ordinary.
Liking the man not overmuch, but pleased to see a face which had been familiar to her childhood, and believing that she owed him large reparation for her grandfather's will, Clara advanced cordially to the old sinner.
"Welcome, Señor Garcia," she said, wondering that he did not kiss her cheek. "Welcome to your own house. It is all yours. Whatever you choose is yours."
"I rejoice in your good fortune," sighed Garcia.
"It is our common fortune," returned Clara, winding her arm in his and walking him up and down the veranda.
"May God give you long life to enjoy it," prayed Garcia.
"And you also," said Clara.
Coronado translated this conversation as fast as it was uttered to Mrs. Stanley.
"This is the golden age," cried that enthusiastic woman. "You Spaniards are the best people I ever saw. Your men absolutely emulate women in unselfishness."