The señora, her face flushing, went quickly back to the fireplace.
“And I do not fancy the trip,” Señorita Anita put in, with more spirit than Señora Vallejo had shown. “I think, Señor Rocha——”
He whirled upon her, and she ceased speaking.
“Señorita,” he said, “I am proud to know you, and allow me to say I am quite sure you were taught not to interfere in any arrangements the head of the family might see fit to make.”
“Allow me to say that you are not the head of the family yet,” the girl returned, half angrily.
“I am, however, half owner of the rancho, I believe, through your father’s will, and I think you may trust me, señorita, to handle these affairs.”
“As to that, you have shown no credentials yet,” the girl burst out.
“Anita!” Señora Vallejo cried.
“Well, he has not!”
“You doubt me?” the young man wished to know. “I shall show my credentials, prove my name and station, at the proper time, señorita, but certainly not here at the mission. I regret we have had this little unpleasantness, for I would win your good favour, but I am firm in my determination to go to the rancho this morning. Perhaps my wound has made me sensitive.”