“I have been; remember nothing,” was the discouraging response. “Of the history this family know nothing.”
Carlos’ face had resumed its mask of indifference. Only his black eyes held a curiously alert expression which watchful Bee did not fail to note.
Patsy looked her disappointment. She had hoped to extract from Carlos some information not only about the Feredas but also concerning the portrait which so greatly interested her. Failing, she next bethought herself of the mysterious wood nymph.
“The other day my father saw a pretty young girl with black eyes and long black hair in our orange groves,” she began afresh. “My friend, Miss Forbes,” Patsy indicated Bee, “also saw her in the woods near our bathing beach. Can you tell me who she is? She certainly must live not far from here.”
A swift flash of anger flitted across the Mexican’s face. It was gone almost instantly.
“I have not seen,” he denied. “Now I go. I have the work to do.”
Wheeling abruptly he started off across the grass, almost on the run, and was soon lost to view among the trees.