As the drummer studied the señora's face, he observed, when she smiled, a little dimple in her left cheek. Somehow this tiny discovery stirred the sick man in a subtle way. With a feeling of peculiar intimacy he watched it come and go. It seemed to advertise, ever so delicately, veiled and exquisite reserves in the nunnish figure. It amazed him that he had not seen, until just now, how lovely the señora was. It seemed as if beauty had been spilled over her.
He lay warming himself in this miracle, when the girl looked up, studied his face a moment, then accused playfully:
"Cá! señor, you are not listening to a word I read. What are your thoughts?"
The sick man was taken aback when he was thus brought to a realization of the vague compound of admiration, sensuous longing, and wistfulness which moved his heart, for the wife of another man. He moistened his lips to say something, when the señora assisted him:
"I dare say you are lying there thinking about your business."
The drummer accepted the suggestion:
"Perhaps I was."
"You mustn't worry about it."
At this negative suggestion, Strawbridge did begin to worry:
"I think I have a right to, señora, when my trip down to San Geronimo spoiled the very thing I went after."