The mayor-domo is moving off on horseback, it need scarce be said. Men of his calling rarely set foot to the earth—never upon a journey of half a league in length.
“Stay! I had forgotten!” calls out the lady, arresting him. “You will find a hat and serapé. They are mine. Bring them, and I shall wait for you here, or meet you somewhere along the way.”
Bowing, he again rides away. Again is he summoned to stop.
“On second thoughts, Señor Benito, I’ve made up my mind to go along with you. Vamos!”
The steward of Don Silvio is not surprised at caprice, when exhibited by the niece of his employer. Without questioning, he obeys her command, and once more heads his horse for the hill.
The lady follows. She has told him to ride in the advance. She has her reason for departing from the aristocratic custom.
Benito is astray in his conjecture. It is not to caprice that he is indebted for the companionship of the señorita. A serious motive takes her back along the road.
She has forgotten something more than her wrapper and hat—that little letter that has caused her so much annoyance.
The “good Benito” has not had all her confidence; nor can he be entrusted with this. It might prove a scandal, graver than the quarrel with Don Miguel Diaz.
She rides back in hopes of repossessing herself of the epistle. How stupid not to have thought of it before!