“But such people as these poor whites are Americans with American ancestors. Dolores is Spanish. Besides, her father and mother are dead. She said so.”
Patsy went on to repeat the meager account Dolores had given of herself, ending with the girl’s allusion to the mysterious “she” of whom she appeared to stand in such lively dread.
“Very unsatisfactory,” commented her aunt when Patsy had finished her narration. “Understand, Patsy, I am grateful to this girl for the service she did you. As for the girl herself——”
Miss Martha’s pause was eloquent of doubt.
“She’s perfectly sweet,” insisted Patsy with some warmth.
“Nevertheless, you know nothing of her beyond what she has chosen to tell you,” firmly maintained Miss Carroll. “I don’t approve of her dodging about in the woods like a wild young animal. For all you know this ‘she’ may have been put to a great deal of uneasiness by the girl’s will-o’-the-wisp behavior. She may be so headstrong and disobedient as to require the adoption of strong measures.”
“She’s not that sort of girl,” Patsy again defended. “She’s gentle and dear and lovable. When she smiles her face lights up just beautifully. Mostly, though, she’s terribly sober. Her voice is so soft and sweet. Only it makes one feel like crying.”
“Hmm!” The ejaculation was slightly skeptical. “She seems to have completely turned your head, Patricia. I suppose you will give me no peace until I have seen her for myself. I am a fairly good judge of character, however. It will not take me long to decide whether she is a proper person for you to cultivate.”
“Then come with me into the woods to-morrow,” eagerly challenged Patsy. “I promised to meet her there, at a certain place, and bring the girls. I’m not the least bit afraid you won’t like Dolores. I know that you will.”
“What! flounder through that jungle and risk snake bite? No, indeed! Furthermore, I forbid you girls to do so.”