“How true in a larger sense,” murmured Mrs. Markham, “the habit of courtesy alone preserves the fluency of the heart.”

“I know you two are saying something very clever,” said Mrs. Brimmer, whose small French slippers and silk stockings were beginning to show their inadequacy to a twilight ramble in the fog; “but I am so slow, and I never catch the point.  Do repeat it slowly.”

“The Senor was only showing us how they managed to shut up a smooth bore in this country,” said Crosby gravely.  “I wonder when we’re going to have dinner.  I suppose old Don Quixote will trot out some of his Senoritas.  I want to see those choir girls that sang so stunningly a while ago.”

“I suppose you mean the boys—­for they’re all boys in the Catholic choirs—­but then, perhaps you are joking again.  Do tell me if you are, for this is really amusing.  I may laugh—­mayn’t I?” As the discomfited humorist fell again to the rear amidst the laughter of the others, Mrs. Brimmer continued naively to Senor Perkins,—­“Of course, as Don Miguel is a widower, there must be daughters or sisters-in-law who will meet us.  Why, the priest, you know—­even he—­must have nieces.  Really, it’s a serious question—­if we are to accept his hospitality in a social way.  Why don’t you ask him?” she said, pointing to the green-jacketed subaltern who was accompanying them.

Senor Perkins looked half embarrassed.

“Repeat your question, my dear lady, and I will translate it.”

“Ask him if there are any women at the Presidio.”

Senor Perkins drew the subaltern aside.  Presently he turned to Mrs. Brimmer.

“He says there are four:  the wife of the baker, the wife of the saddler, the daughter of the trumpeter, and the niece of the cook.”

“Good heavens! we can’t meet them,” said Mrs. Brimmer.

Senor Perkins hesitated.

“Perhaps I ought to have told you,” he said blandly, “that the old Spanish notions of etiquette are very strict.  The wives of the officials and higher classes do not meet strangers on a first visit, unless they are well known.”

“That isn’t it,” said Winslow, joining them excitedly.  “I’ve heard the whole story.  It’s a good joke.  Banks has been bragging about us all, and saying that these ladies had husbands who were great merchants, and, as these chaps consider that all trade is vulgar, you know, they believe we are not fit to associate with their women, don’t you see?  All, except one—­Miss Keene.  She’s considered all right.  She’s to be introduced to the Commander’s women, and to the sister of the Alcalde.”

“She will do nothing of the kind,” said Miss Keene indignantly.  “If these ladies are not to be received with me, we’ll all go back to the ship together.”

She spoke with a quick and perfectly unexpected resolution and independence, so foreign to her usual childlike half dependent character, that her hearers were astounded.  Senor Perkins gazed at her thoughtfully; Brace, Crosby, and Winslow admiringly; her sister passengers with doubt and apprehension.