Nacha went occasionally with him to the shops, to buy furnishings for the ranch house. It was on one of these shopping tours that she met Monsalvat.
Monsalvat was reading in bed next morning when there came a knock at the door. "Come in!" he called.
In the opening doorway Nacha appeared. She was dressed in black as on the preceding afternoon, and this sombre mourning emphasized the fairness of her skin, enhancing its charm. She seemed happy, light-hearted, as though her problem in life had been well disposed of.
Monsalvat lay back among his pillows at her request. His sight had grown very poor and persistent efforts to read had done him a great deal of harm. That morning his eyes were paining him severely. All the objects he looked at had the vague uncertain outline one sees in certain impressionist paintings. Without saying a word, Nacha noticed all the details of the room. Then she took off her hat, and, looking attentively at her friend, said, simply:
"I have come to stay."
"I knew you would come!" he replied, holding out a hand to her. "But I never dared hope that you would stay—"
"Always!" she said, taking his hand, and sitting down on the edge of the bed.
"Always?" he wondered. "How is that possible? Aren't you going to get married?"
"No—You need someone to take care of you. I can't marry now!"