"She—she was a cousin of Don Eduardo, and now she is married again—and she visits us, and her husband is some kind of engineer to make railroads, and mines, and—"
A pinch from Dolores stopped her this time, but it was very clumsily done, Doña Luisa saw it.
"Ah," she said, quietly; "and when is he to bring the railroad of the Americanos to the Californias, eh?"
The women and girls stared at each other.
"I—I cannot tell her," murmured Madalena to Jacoba; "you speak! Of course it is not Doña Angela's husband who does it, but—the railroad does come—so they say."
"Why do you whisper, and not speak aloud?" demanded Doña Luisa, putting aside the hand of Raquel, who tried to quiet her rising resentment. "Is there not anyone here to speak plainly, and the truth? What is it you try to hide from me?"
"Oh, Luisa," begged Jacoba, tearfully, "do not make of this a thing to trouble you! No one tries really to hide things; it is not here the railroad is to be first; it is only talk; it may never happen—it may—"
"Where?" demanded Doña Luisa. And Jacoba, with tears in her eyes, confessed having heard of the impertinence of the Americanos, who meant to build a new road of their own instead of the wagon trail to San Antonio.
"That was good enough for our fathers. What is now wrong with the San Antonio road?"
"Not anything, of course; but the government—"