up her slender height, and made
him a curtsy, a flower bending buoyantly to the breeze, and springing
upright again.

"But"--two or three sliding steps of the fandango, and then in her
chair--"where did you find Eldorado? That's the history a daughter of the
road wants to know. Is it truly 'over the mountains of the moon, down the
valley of the shadow?'"

She swept him along on the tide of her high spirits; her laughter ran
silver cascades down to the ocean of melody; her sun-flecked eyes held
the heart-warming glow, the stimulation of wine. She was a breeze blowing
from the South.

"The romance!" she cried. "Behold an anomaly! Some one actually longing
for a traveler's tale. Begin!" Her voice rang imperious, alluring.

Hayden almost caught at the table, a giddiness of the mind, perhaps of
the senses, confused him. His face was a shade paler.

"It is too plain and rough a tale to be told except as a matter of
business. You are kind; but I should not venture to bore you."

She accepted temporary defeat nonchalantly. "But you"--she did not change
her position even by the movement of a finger, and yet, the whole
expression of her figure became suddenly tense as a strung bow--"are you
so sure that you could ever find your way thither again?"

He looked at her in surprise. "You give me very little credit for
ordinary common sense, mademoiselle," he said shortly. "Of course, I made
a map, and have any number of photographs." Immediately, he could have
bitten his tongue.

"Ah, of course, naturally."

Her indifference, the absent-minded answer reassured him. He did not
notice that her whole figure had relaxed.

There was a faint tap on the door and the subdued secretary stood on the
threshold. "It is half-after four o'clock, mademoiselle, and your next
client is waiting."

Hayden rose. "Time's up," he said. "But, senorita, when do you think the
heirs will be ready to talk business?"

"I think I can promise you an interview within a very short time; and in
the meanwhile I will communicate with you. Oh, by the way, in private and
domestic life, my name is Carrothers, Ydo Carrothers. Y-d-o," spelling
it, "pronounced Edo."

"Ydo," he exclaimed. "It is a name made in Spain; in color it is red and
yellow, and it smells of jasmine."

"Yes." She laughed at his description. "The Romany strain again, you
see."

"One moment," he insisted. "How did you know my traveler's tale? Was it
Penfield?"

"Never mind. It is suf