“That is a lie,” asserted Inez. “I have ask Miguel, who is here forty years, an’ was house servant for Señor Cristoval. Miguel say there is no Señor Travers who is friend of Señor Cristoval. No Señor Travers did ever come to this house for visit. What you say to that, Witch-Woman?”
Mildred flushed and seemed embarrassed. Then she answered calmly:
“I think Miguel speaks truly, for my father did not bear the name of Travers. He was called by another name.”
“Then why do you call yourself Travers?” retorted the other.
Mildred hesitated.
“I did not like my old name,” she said, “and so I changed it. But this is a secret I have told you, Inez, and you must not tell anyone of it.”
Inez nodded, looking at the other curiously. This confession had aroused her sympathy, for the first time, for her fellow nurse. The fact that there was a secret between them dissolved to an extent her antipathy for Mildred, and it might be a bond to eventually draw them nearer together. With more tolerance than she had yet shown she asked:
“Did Señor Cristoval show you the secrets of this house?”
“Yes. I was a little girl and he was good to me. I am not a witch-woman, Inez. Oh, if I were, I would witch a little happiness into my life!” she added miserably.
This burst of rebellious longing interested Inez even more than the secret. She could understand such a protest against fate.