for the visitor.

"Politics."

"Are politics a crime?"

"They lead to many--but do not let us talk of them--" he broke off with a
light gesture dismissing as it were an unpleasant topic. "Since you are
happy," he concluded, looking at her with benevolent eyes.

He was a man of quick gesture and slow precise speech. He always seemed
to mean much more than was conveyed by the mere words he enunciated.
Juanita looked quickly at him. What did he know of her happiness? Was she
happy--when she came to think of it? She remembered her gloomy thoughts
of a few minutes earlier on the balcony. When we are young we confound
thoughts with facts. When the heart is young it makes for itself a new
heaven and a new earth from a word, a glance, a silence. It is a
different earth from this one, but who can tell that it is not the same
heaven as that for which men look?

Marcos was talking politics in the room overhead, forgetting her perhaps
by now. Evasio Mon's suggestion had come at an opportune moment.

"Leon is much exercised on your account," said Mon, quietly, as if he had
divined her thoughts. It was unlike Leon, perhaps, to be exercised about
anything but his own soul; for he was a very devout man. But Juanita was
not likely to pause and reflect on that point.

"Why?" she asked.

"He naturally dislikes the idea of your being dragged into politics,"
answered Mon, gently.

"I? Why should I be dragged into politics?"

Mon made a deprecatory gesture. It seemed that he found himself drawn
again to speak of a subject that was distasteful to him. Then he shrugged
his shoulders.

"Well," he said, half to himself, "we live in a practical age. Let us be
practical. But he would have preferred that you should marry for love.
Come, let us change the subject, my child. How is Sarrion? In good
health, I hope."

"It is very kind of Leon to exercise his mind on my account," said
Juanita steadily. "But I can manage my own affairs."

"Those are my own words," answered Mon soothingly. "I said to him:
'Juanita is no longer a child; Marcos is honest, he will not have
deceived her; he must have told her that such a marriage is a mere
question of politics; that there is no thought of love.'"

He glanced sharply at her. It was almost prophetic; for Marcos had used
the very words. It is not difficult to be prophetic if one can sink self
sufficiently to cloak one's thoughts with the mind of another and thus
divine the workings of his brain