“Yes, when he thinks he might. But when the commandant pulls the string, by looking sad or offended, then good-by to the spirit and independence of the subaltern.”
“One thing I must not forget to ask you;” she said, going back to the point of their digression, “and it is, not to believe what those men have been telling you about the Alamar rancho having been finally rejected. You know John Gasbang could never speak the truth, and years have not made him more reliable. As for Miller, Hughes and Mathews, they are dishonest enough, and though not so brazen as Gasbang, they will misrepresent facts to induce you to go with them, for they want you with them.”
“I know they do; I see through all that. But I see, too, that San Diego is sure to have a railroad direct to the Eastern States. Lands will increase in value immediately; so I think, myself, I had better take time by the forelock and get a good lot of land in the Alamar grant, which is quite near town.”
“But, are you sure it is finally rejected?”
“I saw the book, where the fact is recorded. Isn't that enough?”
“Yes, if there has been no error.”
“Always the same cautious Mary Moreneau, who tortured me with her doubts and would not have me until Father White took compassion on me,” said he, smiling, looking at her fondly, for his thoughts reverted back to those days when Miss Mary was afraid to marry him; but, after all, he won her and brought her all the way from Washington to his New England home.
William Darrell was already a well-to-do young farmer in those days, a bachelor twenty-eight to thirty years of age, sole heir to a flourishing New England farm, and with a good account in a Boston bank, when Miss Mary Moreneau came to New England from Washington to visit her aunt, Mrs. Newton. As Mrs. Newton's husband was William Darrell's uncle, nothing was more natural than for Mary to meet him at his uncle's house. Nobody expected that William would fall in love with her, as he seemed to be proof against Cupid's darts. The marriageable maidens of William's neighborhood had in vain tried to attract the obdurate young farmer, who seemed to enjoy no other society than that of his uncle Newton and his wife.
But Mary came and William surrendered at once. She, however, gave him no encouragement. Her coldness seemed only to inflame his love the more, until Miss Moreneau thought it was best to shorten her visit and return home about the middle of September.
“Why are you to return home so early?” Darrell asked Mary, after Mrs. Newton had informed him of Mary's intention of going.