The young officer thought her a more interesting companion than any white girl he had ever met.  The world—­his world—­was all so new and marvellous to her that it was like opening its doors to some visitor from another planet.  He took great pleasure in doing that service and in seeing how quickly and eagerly she absorbed everything she saw and heard and read; and he found her fresh and constant interest entirely delightful.  So it soon came about that the quiet afternoons at home grew more and more frequent.

One day in early June they stood together in the placita and agreed that it was very beautiful.  The proposition was evident enough and likely to cap forth enthusiastic assent from any one.  For the plumy green branches of the locust tree were heavy with pendent clusters of odorous white bloom; the iris that circled the fountain was glorious in its purple raiment; the honeysuckle arch was a mass of red and white blossoms trumpeting their fragrance; beside it a great spreading rose-bush was yellow with golden treasure; the velvety, emerald turf was dotted with white and gold; the rose-bushes were weighted with opening buds or perfect flowers, and the warm, soft air was vivid with sunlight, and sweet with mingled odors.

So they could hardly have done anything but agree upon the beauty of the little court, even if they had wanted to quarrel.  But for the hundredth time it struck him that it was very remarkable they should so often think alike.  When he made mention of this remarkable fact, she flashed up at him one of her eager, brilliant glances.  Then, meeting something more than usual in his look, she quickly dropped her eyes again, and over her manner there came that mystifying air of shyness and reserve, as if some invisible attendant had wrapped about her an impenetrable veil.  In their early acquaintance he had often noticed that quick and baffling change in her manner, and had liked it, because it seemed to tell of a refined and sensitive nature.  From their later frank and friendly intercourse it had been absent, and now, when it appeared again and seemed to take her away from him, his heart beat fast with the longing to tear the veil away.

For a moment she stood with her gaze resolutely upon the ground and her expression and figure impassive.  But she felt his eyes upon her, and her brown fingers trembled over the yellow rose in her hand.  Suddenly, as if compelled, she lifted her face and the look in his eyes called all her heart into hers.  For a second they stood so, revealing to each other their inmost feeling, and then, covering her face with her hands, she ran into the house.  The Lieutenant picked up the yellow rose she had dropped and went out through the street entrance, a very thoughtful look upon his countenance.

Wemple had not realized before what was happening to them both, although all Santa Fe, except themselves, knew it very well.  But at last he understood that he loved her and that she knew it, and that she also knew she had confessed in her eyes her love for him.  What was he going to do about it?  That was the question he had to face and to settle; and he went out alone and tramped over the brown hills and across arroyos and through clumps of sage brush and juniper and cactus, and argued it out with himself.