Alaire knew how to be a gracious and winning hostess; of course she did not appear to notice her guest’s embarrassment.  She had rather welcomed the thought that this man cared for her, and yet, had she deliberately planned to dampen his feeling, she could hardly have succeeded better than by showing him the wide disparity in their lives and situations.  Dave was dismayed; he felt very poor and ridiculous.  Alaire was no longer the woman he had ridden with through the solitudes; her very friendliness seemed to be a condescension.

He did not linger long after they had dined, for he wished to be alone, where he could reach an understanding with himself.  On the steps he waited just a moment for Alaire to mention, if she chose, that subject which they had still left open on the night before.  Reading his thought, she said: 

“You are expecting me to say something about Panfilo Sanchez.”

“Yes.”

“I have thought it over; in fact, I have been thinking about it all day; but even yet I don’t know what to tell you.  One moment I think the truth would merely provoke another act of violence; the next I feel that it must be made public regardless of consequences.  As for its effect upon myself—­you know I care very little what people say or think.”

“I’m sorry I killed the fellow—­I shouldn’t have done it, but—­one sees things differently out in the rough and here in the settled country.  Laws don’t work alike in all places; they depend a good deal upon—­geography.  There are times when the theft of a crust of bread would warrant the punishment I gave Panfilo.  I can’t help but feel that his conduct, under the circumstances, called for—­ what he got.  He wasn’t a good man, in spite of what Jose says; Anto confessed to me that they were planning all sorts of deviltry together.”

“That is hardly an excuse.”  Alaire smiled faintly.

“Oh, I know!” Dave agreed.  “But, you see, I don’t feel the need of one.  The sentimental side of the affair, which bothers you, doesn’t affect me in the least.”

Alaire nodded.  “You have made me understand how you look at things, and I must confess that I tolerate actions that would have shocked me before I came to know this country.  Panfilo is dead and gone—­rightly or wrongly, I don’t know.  What I dread now is further consequences.”

“Don’t weaken on my account.”

“No!  I’m not thinking of the consequences to you or to me.  You are the kind of man who can protect himself, I’m sure; your very ability in that direction frightens me a little on Jose’s account.  But”—­she sighed and lifted her round shoulders in a shrug—­ “perhaps time will decide this question for us.”

Dave laughed with some relief.  “I think you’ve worried yourself enough over it, ma’am,” he said; “splitting hairs as to what’s right and what’s wrong, when it doesn’t matter much, in either case.  Suppose you continue to think it over at your leisure.”