’I don’t know you any more—­get!’ and I just slipped on this frock and ordered Manuela around as I used to do—­and she in fits of laughter; I reckon, Clarence, she hasn’t laughed as much since I left.  And then I thought of you—­perhaps worried and flustered as yet over things, and the change, and I just slipped into the kitchen and I told old fat Conchita to make some of these tortillas you know,—­with sugar and cinnamon sprinkled on top,—­and I tied on an apron and brought ’em up to you on a tray with a glass of that old Catalan wine you used to like.  Then I sorter felt frightened when I got here, and I didn’t hear any noise, and I put the tray down in the hall and peeped in and found you asleep.  Sit still, I’ll fetch em.”

She tripped out into the passage, returning with the tray, which she put on the table beside Clarence, and then standing back a little and with her hands tucked soubrette fashion in the tiny pockets of her apron, gazed at him with a mischievous smile.

It was impossible not to smile back as he nibbled the crisp Mexican cake and drank the old mission wine.  And Susy’s tongue trilled an accompaniment to his thanks.

“Lord! it seems so nice to be here—­just you and me, Clarence—­like in the old days—­with nobody naggin’ and swoopin’ round after you.  Don’t be greedy, Clarence, but give me a cake.”  She took one and finished the dregs of his glass.

Then sitting on the arm of his chair, she darted a violet ray of half reproach and half mischievousness into his amused and retrospective eyes.  “There used to be room for two in that chair, Klarns.”

The use of the old childish diminutive for his name seemed to him natural as her familiarity, and he moved a little sideways to make room for her with an instinct of pleasure, but the same sense of irresponsibility that had characterized his reflections.  Nevertheless, he looked critically into the mischievous eyes, and said quietly,—­

“Where is your husband?”

There was no trace of embarrassment, apology, or even of consciousness in her pretty face as she replied, passing her hand lightly through his hair,—­

“Oh, Jim?  I’ve packed him off!”

“Packed him off!” echoed Clarence, slightly astonished.

“Yes, to Fair Plains, full tilt after your wife’s buggy.  You see, Clarence, after the old cat—­that’s your wife, please—­left, I wanted to make sure she had gone, and wasn’t hangin’ round to lead you off again with your leg tied to her apron string like a chicken’s!  No!  I said to Jim, ’Just you ride after her until you see she’s safe and sound in the down coach from Fair Plains without her knowin’ it, and if she’s inclined to hang back or wobble any, you post back here and let me know!’ I told him I would stay and look after you to see you didn’t bolt too!” She laughed, and then added, “But I didn’t think I should fall into the old ways so soon, and have such a nice time.  Did you, Clarence?”