"It is good time she comes," observed Don Ricardo. "One year—two years, and Rafael, like Miguel, would be content with half-breed children and their mother. Little Marta's child is born, and they say she will not stay at Las Flores, where he sent her—not for the best house there!"
A peal of laughter reached them from the other room.
"Bravo!" called Rafael; "I take you at your word, Merced. A kiss to seal the compact!"
"Keep it for your wedding-day, Don Rafael," she retorted, and ran from him through the door into the room where the three men were talking. But Rafael caught her inside the portal, and dragged her back, his face flushed and his beautiful eyes glowing.
"I will have it!" he muttered, with his lips against her own. "You pretty devil, I will!"
"And this is the home your young nun will come to from her convent," Bryton remarked. "Some one said there was Indian blood in her family; it may prove fortunate, for she will need war-clubs instead of religion to quell this sort of thing."
"But with the help of her saints—"
"Of course," agreed Bryton; "with the help of her saints all things may happen."
An Indian servant came in from the plaza, and closed the door and stood with his back against it.
"The Doña Madalena, and Doña Dolores, and the Señora Bryton, stop in the calesha," he announced, stoically; "they come in!"