Part 31

"Coronada must have brought this mirror with him on his first expedition," she remarked to Bessie who lounged on the sofa on the opposite side of the room amid a heap of florid cushions. "I feel as though I had a personal grudge against that man," she continued, vainly endeavoring to catch an unbroken outline of herself in the glass.

"It's stunning, Blanch!" broke in Bessie from the sofa. "What is it--a Worth?"

"No--a Doucet. Isn't it absurd that I should array myself in these gorgeous gowns to compete with that Indian in her few flimsy calicoes and silks? The contrast is out of all proportion. It's the sublime and the ridiculous. And yet she looks well in anything! Dress her in rags and she is picturesque; robe her in silks and she is fascinating."

"That's just what I can't understand," said Bessie. "We couldn't wear her clothes, but she can wear ours. Why is it?"

"It's quite simple. We have been handicapped from the start because we have been forced to compete with them on their own ground. They are perfectly natural; they have nothing and aspire to nothing, while we are wholly artificial--have everything and aspire to more."

"Why, to hear you, one would think that Jack was talking!" exclaimed Bessie in genuine surprise.

"Oh! I don't pretend to agree with his views, but as regards us, he's about right. I was never able to see ourselves as some others see us until we came here. And I have come to the conclusion that our views of life are about as distorted as the cracked reflection of myself in the mirror yonder. We have unconsciously lived a life antagonistic to nature and consequently find ourselves ridiculous in our simplest endeavors to be natural. Of course," she added, "they would appear the same if things were reversed and we had them on our ground.

"With us," she went on, "marriage is more a game of intrigue than love; here it is purely one of sentiment. Aside from my intrinsic value, what weapon have I to employ against this Indian woman? The things which count for so much with us, fall flat here.

"Why, I'm not even in a position to make Jack jealous! If I were at home, I would have a dozen men at my feet and as many more as I wished to play off against him, not to mention the thousand opportunities for neglect. In fact, all the weapons which we women are so fond of employing against men. Whereas, here I am at the feet of my Lord Jack--his indifference is insufferable! Oh! I'll pay him back for this!" she cried, pale with anger.

"Men are brutes--all of them!" remarked Bessie laconically, rising to a sitting posture on the sofa.

"I hate him--hate him!" continued Blanch in a fresh paroxysm of passion. "To think that he of all men should have been the one chosen to show me myself--the only one of us who was strong enough to break away! Why was I not able to hold him? Why am I not able to come to him now? There is something wrong somewhere. We seem to have lost our grip on things. I can't understand it!" Just then the old, gilt French clock on the white marble mantelpiece slowly chimed the hour of five. The sound of the clock caused Blanch to pause. "Five o'clock," she said, calming herself. "Don Felipe will be waiting for us in the garden."

"That's so," answered Bessie, rising from the sofa and crossing the room to the window which looked out over the patio into the garden. "There he is now, pacing back and forth beneath the trees. What a restless man he is!"

"After the first cup, you might disappear, Bess," said Blanch. "I want to try to find out if he still cares for that Indian?"

"That was the most romantic thing I ever heard!" exclaimed Bessie.

"I wonder he ever returned," answered Blanch, opening the door and leading the way across the patio in the direction of the garden. The tinkle of a guitar attracted their attention to a group of peons and women squatted on their heels on one side of the court, in the shade of the arcades, smoking and chatting. A little beyond them, in the shadow of the doorway, stood the major-domo, Juan Ramon and the pretty housekeeper, Rosita.

"Dios! but she is magnifico--the tall one!" whispered Juan to Rosita as the girls passed them, nodding and smiling in response to Juan's deep salutation and Rosita's courtesy.

"And the little one," said Rosita in turn. "Is she not like a half-blown pink rose?"

"Aye! 'tis a feast for the eyes to look at them!" answered Juan. "There has not been so much life in the place since the old days when the Master was alive."

"If Don Felipe doesn't marry one of them he's a fool," added Rosita.

"That's just what I have been saying to myself," returned Juan.

"What else can he be doing here if he doesn't intend to take one of them back to his hacienda with him?" continued Rosita. "I've noticed that he and the tall one spend much time together."

"Aye!" ejaculated Juan. "It must be lonely at the old rancho without a woman to keep him company."

"The tall Señorita would be just the one for the place!" exclaimed Rosita enthusiastically.

"Rosita mia," began Juan confidentially after a short silence, during which his gaze rested pensively on the retreating figures of the girls, "I've just been thinking that there is no happiness for a man, still less for a woman, in a single life. What say you, Rosita mia," he went on, patting her familiarly on the cheek.

"Juan Ramon," interrupted Rosita with an angry flush, "if you don't want to get your face slapped, you had better behave like a Caballero!"

"Caramba! what a little spitfire!" returned Juan, pulling the end of his thin mustache, yet not in the least disconcerted by her show of temper. "But supposing, my pearl of a housekeeper, that I bought a neat little rancheria--do you know of any one who might care to look after it?"

"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?"