d his chair
to the table, and passively took the food she brought him. She moved
about the room between shelves and fire, and, when she had served him,
seated herself at leisure to begin her own supper. Uncle Ramon was a
peon of some substance, doing business in towns and living comparatively
well. Besides the shredded spiced stew of meat, there were several
dishes for supper. Genesmere ate the meal deliberately, attending to his
plate and cup, and Lolita was as silent as himself, only occasionally
looking at him; and in time his thoughts came to the surface again in
words. He turned and addressed Lolita in Mexican: "So, you see, you
saved his life down there."

She laid her fork down and gave a laugh, hard and harsh; and she said
nothing, but waited for what next.

"You don't believe that. You don't know that. He knows that."

She laughed again, more briefly.

"You can tell him so. From me."

Replies seemed to struggle together on Lolita's lips and hinder each
other's escaping.

"And you can tell him another thing. He wouldn't have stopped. He'd have
shot. Say that. From me. He'd have shot, because he's a Spaniard, like
you."

"You lie!" This side issue in some manner set free the girl's tongue, "I
am not Spanish. I care nothing for Spaniards or what they may do. I am
Mexican, and I waited to see you kill him. I wanted to watch his blood.
But you! you listened to his false talk, and believed him, and let him
go. I save his life? Go after him now! Do it with this knife, and tell
him it is Lolita's. But do not sit there and talk any more. I have had
enough of men's talk to-day. Enough, enough, enough!"

Genesmere remained in his chair, while she had risen to her feet. "I
suppose," he said, very slowly, "that folks like you folks can't
understand about love--not about the kind I mean."

Lolita's two hands clinched the edge of the table, and she called upon
her gods. "Believe it, then! Believe it! And kill me, if that will make
you contented. But do not talk any more. Yes, he told me that he loved
me. Yes, I kissed him; I have kissed him hundreds of times, always,
since before I can remember. And I had been laughing at him to-day,
having nothing in my heart but you. All day it had rejoiced me to hear
his folly and think of you, and think how little he knew, and how you
would come soon. But your folly is worse. Kill me in this house
to-night, and I will tell you, dying, that I love you, and that it is
you who ar