Don Joaquin had sounded Mariquita with reference to Sarella's religion. It suited him to sound Sarella in reference to Mariquita—and another person. This he would not have done had he not regarded Sarella as potentially a near relation.

"Mr. Gore talks about interesting things?" he observed tentatively.

"What people call 'interesting things' are sometimes very tedious," she answered smartly, intending to please him.

He was a little pleased, but not diverted from his purpose. He never was diverted from his purposes.

"He is a different sort of person from any Mariquita has known," he remarked; "conversation like his must interest her."

"Only, she does not converse with him."

"But she hears."

"Oh! Mariquita hears everything."

"You don't think she finds him tedious?"

"Oh, no! She does not know anyone is tedious." It by no means struck her father that this was a fault in her.

"It is better to be content with one's company," he said. Then, "He does not find her tedious, I think, though she speaks little."

"Mr. Gore? Anything but!" And Sarella laughed.

Don Joaquin waited for more, and got it.

"Nobody could interest him more," she declared with conviction, shaking her head with pregnant meaning.

"Ah! So I have thought sometimes," Don Joaquin agreed.

"Anyone could see it. Except Mariquita," she proceeded.

"Mariquita not?"

"Not she! Mariquita's eyes look so high she cannot see you and me, nor Mr. Gore."

After "you and me" Sarella had made an infinitesimal pause, and had darted an instantaneous glance at Don Joaquin. He had scarcely time to catch the glance before it was averted and Sarella added, "or Mr. Gore."

Don Joaquin did not think it objectionable in his daughter "not to see" "you and me"—himself and Sarella—too hastily. But it would ultimately be advisable that she should see what was coming before it actually came. That would save telling. Neither would he have been pleased if she had quickly scented a lover in Mr. Gore; that would have offended her father's sense of dignity. Nor would it have been advisable for her to suspect a lover in Mr. Gore at any time, if Mr. Gore were not intending to be one. Once he was really desirous of being one, and her father approved, she might as well awake to it.

"It is true," he said, "Mariquita has not those ideas."

There was undoubtedly a calm communication in his tone. Sarella could not decide whether it implied censure of "those ideas" elsewhere.

"Not seeing what can be seen," she suggested with some pique, "may deceive others. Thus false hopes are given."

"Mariquita has given no hopes to anyone," her father declared sharply.

"Certainly not. Yet Mr. Gore may think that what is visible must be seen—like his 'interest' in her; and that, since it is seen and not disapproved...."

"Only, as you said, Mariquita doesn't see."

"He may not understand that. He may see nothing objectionable in himself...."

"There is nothing objectionable. The contrary."

And Sarella knew from his tone that Don Joaquin did not disapprove of Mr. Gore as a possible son-in-law.

"How hard it is," she thought, "to get these Spaniards to say anything out. Why can't they say what they mean?"

Sarella was not deficient in a sort of superficial good-nature. It seemed to her that she would have to "help things along." She thought it out of the question for Mariquita to go on indefinitely at the range, doing the work of three women for no reward, and rapidly losing her youth, letting her life be simply wasted. There had never been anyone before Mr. Gore, and never would be anyone else; it would be a providential way out of the present impossible state of things if he and Mariquita should make a match of it. And why shouldn't they? She did not believe that he was actually in love with Mariquita yet; perhaps he never would be till he discovered in her some sort of response. And Mariquita if left to herself was capable of going on for ten years just as she was.

"Mr. Gore," she told Don Joaquin, "is not the sort of man to throw himself at a girl's head if he imagined it would be unpleasant to her."

"Why should he be unpleasant to her?"

"No reason at all. And he isn't unpleasant to her. Only she never thinks of—that sort of thing."

Her father did not want her to "think of that sort of thing"—till called upon. Sarella saw that, and thought him as stupid as his daughter.

His idea of what would be correct was that Gore should "speak to him," that he should (after due examination of his conditions) signify approval, first to Gore himself, and then to Mariquita, whereupon it would be her duty to listen encouragingly to Mr. Gore's proposals. Don Joaquin made Sarella understand that these were his notions.

("How Spanish!" she thought.)

"You'll never get it done that way," she told him shortly. "Mr. Gore will not say a word to you till he thinks Mariquita would not be offended—"

"Why should she be offended!"

"She would be, if Mr. Gore came to you, till she had given him some cause for believing she cared at all for him. He knows that well enough. You may be sure that while she seems unaware of his taking an interest in her, he will never give you the least hint. He doesn't want to marry her—yet. He won't let himself want it before she gives some sign."

Sarella understood her own meaning quite well, but Don Joaquin did not understand it so clearly.

He took an early opportunity of saying to his daughter:

"I think Mr. Gore a nice man. He is correct. I approve of him. And it is an advantage that he is a Catholic."

To call it "an advantage" seemed to Mariquita a dry way of putting it, but then her father was dry.

"Living in the house," he continued, wishing she would say something, "he must be intimate with us. I find him suitable for that. One would not care for it in every case. Had he turned out a different sort of person, I should not have wished for any friendship between him and yourselves—Sarella and you. It might have been out of place."

"I do not think there would ever be much friendship between Sarella and him," said Mariquita; "she hardly listens when he talks about things—"

"But you should listen. It would be not courteous to make him think you found his conversation tedious."

"Tedious! I listen with interest."

"No doubt. And there is nothing out of place in your showing it. He is no longer a stranger to us."

"He is kind," she said. "He worked hard to help Jack in getting his shed fit for Ginger. It was he who built the partitions. Jack told me. Mr. Gore said nothing about it. Also, he was good to Ben Sturt when he hurt his knee and could not ride; he went and sat with him, chatting, and read funny books to him. He is a very kind person. I am glad you like him—I was not sure."

"I waited. One wishes to know a stranger before liking him, as you call it; what is more important, I approve of him, and find him correct."

Whether this helped much we cannot say. Sarella didn't think so, though Don Joaquin reported it to her with much complacence.

"She must know now," he said, "that I authorize him."