Valencia Valdés had not ridden far when she met Ramon Ainsa returning from his mission. He was a sunny young fellow, whom she had known since they had been children together.
It occurred to her that he bore himself in a manner that suggested something important on hand. His boyish mouth was set severely, and he greeted her with a punctilio quite unusual. At once she jumped shrewdly to a conclusion.
"Did you bring our mail back with you from Corbett's?" she innocently inquired.
"Yes, señorita."
"Since when have I been 'señorita' to you, Ramon?"
"Valencia, I should say." He blushed.
"Indeed, I should think so. It hasn't been so long since you called me Val."
"Ah! Those happy days!" he sighed.
"Fiddlesticks!" she promptly retorted. "Don't be a goose. You're not in the sere and yellow yet. Don't forget you'll not be twenty-one till next month."
"One counts time not by years, but by its fullness," he said, in the manner of one who could tell volumes if he would.