a cordial smile on his
shrewd warmly coloured face.

"The house is at your service, Don Dario," he said, shaking the
newcomer's hand. "We are honoured that you come in time for my sister's
wedding. It distresses me that I cannot offer you the best room in the
house, but, Dios! we have a company here. I have only the half of my
poor bed to offer you, but if you will deign to accept that--"

"I am miserable, wretched, to put you to such inconvenience--"

"Never think of such a thing, my friend. Nothing could give me greater
happiness than to try to make you comfortable in my poor room. Will you
come now and take a siesta before supper?"

Dario followed him to the house, protesting at every step, and Joaquin
threw open the door of one of the porch rooms.

"At your service, senor--everything at your service."

He went to one corner of the room and kicked aside a pile of saddles,
displaying a small hillock of gold in ten-and fifty-dollar slugs. "You
will find about thirty thousand dollars there. We sold some cattle a
days ago. I beg that you will help yourself. It is all at your service.
I will now go and send you some aguardiente, for you must be thirsty."
And he went out and left his guest alone.

Dario threw himself face downward on the bed. He was in love, and the
lady had kissed another man as if she had no love to spare. True, it was
but her brother she had kissed, but would she have eyes for any one else
during a stranger's brief visit? And how, in this crowded house, could
he speak a word with her alone? And that terrible dragon of a mother!
He sprang to his feet as an Indian servant entered with a glass of
aguardiente. When he had burnt his throat, he felt better. "I will stay
until I have won her, if I remain a month," he vowed. "It will be some
time before Don Roberto will care to talk business."

But Don Roberto was never too occupied to talk business. After he had
taken his bath and siesta, he sent a servant to request Don Dario
Castanares to come up to the library, where he spent most of his time,
received all his visitors, reprimanded his children, and took his
after-dinner naps. It was a luxurious room for the Californian of that
day. A thick red English carpet covered the floor; one side of the room
was concealed by a crowded bookcase, and the heavy mahogany furniture
was handsomely carved, although upholstered with horse-hair.

In an hour every detail of the transaction had been disposed of, and
D