“Does Mrs. Thomas play as high as you?” asked Gallito.

“I don’t care much for a tame game,” said Mrs. Thomas modestly, with lowered lids.  “They’re too many long, sad winters in the mountains when gentl—­, I mean friends, can’t cross the trails to see you, an’ you got to fill up your heart with cards and religion and things like that.”

Jose had paused to watch, with a keen appreciation, the grace of Pearl’s movements.  “Caramba!” he muttered.  “How sprang that flower of Spain from such a gnarled old tree as you, Gallito?  Dios!  But she is salado!”

Gallito frowned a little, which did not in the least disconcert Jose, and, rising, he moved a small table forward, opened it and then going to a cupboard in the wall drew from it a short, squat bottle, four glasses and a pack of cards.  “Your room is just beyond this,” he said, turning to Pearl.  “Jose says that you will find everything ready for you.  You must be tired.  You had better go to bed.”

Pearl twitched her shoulders impatiently.  “I am not sleepy,” she said sullenly.  She threw herself in the chair that Gallito had vacated and lay there watching the fire with somber, wild eyes.

Jose threw another log on the fire and then the two men and two women sat down to their cards.  A clock ticked steadily, monotonously, on the mantel-piece, but whether an hour or ten minutes passed while she sat there watching the brilliant, soaring flame of the pine logs Pearl could not have told, when suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by the sound of someone whistling along the road.  It seemed a long way off at first, but gradually came nearer and nearer, tuneful and clear as the song of a bobolink.

“Saint Harry, by all the saints or devils!” cried Jose with a burst of his shrill laughter.  “Ah, Francisco, the devil is a shrewd fellow; when he can’t manage a job himself, he always gets a woman to help him.”  His glancing, twinkling eyes sought Pearl, who had barely turned her head as her father rose to open the door for the newcomer, exclaiming with some show of cordiality: 

“Ah, Seagreave, come in, come in.”

“Thanks,” said an agreeable voice.  “I got home late and found that Jose had made preparations to lighten my loneliness.  Then I saw the light in your window and thought I would come down.  You see I suspected pleasant company.”

He advanced into the room and then, seeing Pearl, who had twisted about in her chair and was gazing at him with the first show of interest she had yet exhibited, he paused and looked rather hesitatingly at Gallito.

“We have a guest,” said Jose softly and in Spanish.

“My daughter has returned with me,” said Gallito.  “Pearl, this is Mr. Seagreave.”

“Saint Harry,” said Jose more softly still.

Mr. Seagreave bowed, although one who knew him well might have seen that his astonishment increased rather than abated at the sight of Pearl.  As for her, she merely nodded and let her lashes lie the more wearily and indifferently upon her cheek.