"You are too particular," Don Carlos told her. "If the persecution continues another year we shall be beggars. Here is the best catch in the country seeking you, and you would refuse him. And you do not like a high army officer because you do not fancy the look in his eyes!
"Think on it, girl! An alliance with Don Diego Vega is much to be desired. Perhaps, when you know him better, you will like him more. And the man may awaken. I thought I saw a flash of it this night, deemed him jealous because of the presence of the captain here. If you can arouse his jealousy—"
Señorita Lolita burst into tears, but soon the tempest of weeping passed, and she dried her eyes.
"I—I shall do my best to like him," she said. "But I cannot bring myself to say, yet, that I will be his wife."
She hurried into her room again, and called for the native woman who attended her. Soon the house was in darkness, and the grounds about it, save for the fires down by the adobe huts, where the natives told one another grim tales of the night's events, each trying to make his falsehood the greatest. A gentle snore came from the apartment of Don Carlos Pulido and his wife.
But the Señorita Lolita did not slumber. She had her head propped on one hand, and she was looking through a window at the fires in the distance, and her mind was full of thoughts of Señor Zorro.
She remembered the grace of his bow, the music of his deep voice, the touch of his lips upon her palm.
"I would he were not a rogue!" she sighed. "How a woman could love such a man!"