"Bah! First pay your gambling debts, Juan Ramon. There will then be time enough to look for some one who will allow herself to be beaten on feast-days when you have drunk more pulque than is good for you. But Dios! why am I wasting words with you? The Señoritas will begin to wonder what has become of their chocolate and tortillas if I don't hurry."
"Ungrateful woman," responded Juan, assuming an injured tone. "Would you leave me without a kiss?"
"Holy Mother! what has come over you, Juan Ramon—has the sunshine gone to your head? A kiss, indeed!" and she tossed her head. "Go to Petronita, the cook! She is old; doubtless she will give you a plenty!" and laughing, she hurried into the dining-room in search of a tray with which to serve the ladies. The mere mention of the ancient, withered Petronita, with the parchment-like face, caused Juan's mouth to pucker as though he had bitten into an unripe persimmon.
"Diablos! if the luck would only change!" he muttered. "Rosita would be the very one—" The sound of light footsteps and the tinkle of spurs caused Juan to turn.
"Ah! buenas dias, Señorita!" he exclaimed, lifting his hat and bowing before Chiquita, who had entered the patio from the opposite side of the house. Her riding-habit, her boots and gloves and gray felt hat beneath which were twisted her thick braids of hair, were covered with thin white particles of dust.
"Where is your mistress, Doña Fernandez, Juan?" she asked.
"I will call her, Señorita," answered Juan, replacing his hat on his head and starting for the hallway.
"Never mind, Juan," called Chiquita, catching sight of Blanch and Bessie in the distance. "I will first speak with the Señoritas," and she turned toward the garden.
Juan's beady black eyes followed her tall figure as she moved toward the girls. Ever since the arrival of the Americans there had been much discussion in the household as to which was the more beautiful, Blanch or Chiquita. The Señora's dislike for the latter was well known, but in spite of this prejudice, opinion was pretty evenly divided concerning the merits of the two. It was a vexing question, and the opportunity of comparing the two women as they met in the garden was too tempting to be missed. So, with one end of his zerape slung carelessly over his shoulder, Juan strolled casually past the little group of women in the direction of the corrals, where he could observe them at his leisure from the recesses of the garden without attracting attention.
Notwithstanding the fact that the dark woman was at a disadvantage in her dust-covered riding-habit, he could not for the life of him tell which was the more beautiful of the two as he passed behind a thicket of lilac bushes, and seated himself on a rustic bench and began rolling a cigarillo between his long slim fingers.