Strawbridge adjusted his chair silently and sat staring at the slight figure, in mute speculation. His head was full of the wildest conjectures: Josefa was her brother ... her lover. Josefa had followed her over from Spain....
"You say you never heard of Josefa before you came here?" he asked aloud.
"No, I'd never heard of him."
"Then why in the world—"
She made a weary gesture.
"Oh, Señor Strawbridge, because life is all terrifying here; every part has the same horrible quality!"
"But you don't know where Josefa is?"
"Sí, sí, señor; indeed I do!"
"Then where is he?" asked Strawbridge, more bewildered than ever.