"Merciful God! they must be very grand people to talk so foolish!" ejaculated the Señora who knew enough English to grasp the import of Mrs. Forest's words. Although she had never devoted much time to the study of the language, she had picked up a smattering of English from the Americans and Englishmen who annually stopped at the Posada on their way to the mines in the interior of the country in which much foreign capital was invested.
"Why, there's Jack!" cried Bessie, dropping lightly from the box into the arms of two peons who stood below to assist her to the ground.
"Hello, Jack!" she continued, advancing, "I'll wager you didn't expect to see us this morning, did you?"
The Captain noted the ring of sarcasm in her voice as she concluded.
"I confess I did not, Cousin," he answered, descending the veranda to meet them. "What in the world brought you here?" he asked, taking his cousin's hand.
"Oh! we thought we'd like to see a little more of the world before we became too old to enjoy traveling," she answered, with a peculiar little laugh that was all her own and which usually conveyed a sense of uneasiness to those toward whom it was directed.
"How much longer are you going to stand there asking idiotic questions?" broke in Mrs. Forest with a furious glance at her son. "Can't you see, I'm nearly dead?"
"Really, Mother, I'm very sorry," returned the Captain, "but it's all your own fault, you know. Why did you come?"
"Our fault—why did we come? It's your fault—your fault, sir!" she almost screamed, and ended by laughing hysterically.
Colonel Van Ashton who had been nursing his wrath all night long while being bumped over a rough road in an old broken-down stagecoach, required but the sight of his nephew to cause an explosion. He had not closed his eyes during the entire night, and like his sister, Mrs. Forest, was in a state of collapse. His usually florid complexion had turned to a brilliant crimson, giving him the appearance of an overheated furnace.