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She called back to the serving woman. "Put out the lights, Josita." They sat in the dusk and looked out into the veiled and shadowy spaces and the dim singers lifted up their voices. The moon would rise late; there was no light save the tiny pin points of the cigarettes; it gave the music an elfin, eerie quality. "Pretty crude after Italy, eh, Honor?" Richard King wanted to know.
Carter came to stay with her and she sent him away, and then Madeline King came, her very blue eyes red rimmed and deep with understanding, but Honor could not talk with her nor listen to her. She went away, shaking her head, and Josita came in her place. Honor did not mind the little Mexican serving woman. She did not try to talk to her.
Señor Don Diego! No!" It was almost midnight when Jimsy called them all down into the sala. They came, wondering, one by one, Carter, Mrs. King, Richard King had fallen asleep after his half dozen swallows of water and Honor, and Josita, her head muffled in her rebozo, her brown fingers busy with her beads.
It became intolerable to sit still. She sprang up and began to walk swiftly from wall to wall of the big room, her heels tapping sharply on the smooth red tiles. Josita lifted mournful eyes to stare at her for an instant and then returned to her beads. Honor paused and looked out of the window. She could see nothing through the inky blackness.
It was not as long a walk as it seemed, but their pace made it consume ten interminable minutes. At length the twisting walk twisted once more and gave on a cleared space, meltingly green, breathlessly still, an ancient stone well in its center. Josita gestured with a brown hand. "Alla esta Señorito Don Diego! Adios, Señorita!" "Gracias!" Honor managed. "Te nada!"
She just crouched on the floor at her feet and prayers slipped from her tongue and her fingers: Padre Nuestra qui estás en los cielos and presently: Santa Maria Honor found herself listening a little scornfully. Was there indeed a Father in the heavens or anywhere else who concerned Himself about things like this? Josita seemed to think so.
Of course, if he's really bad, you'll have to go, but we do want you to stay on!" She was moving about the big room, giving a brisk touch here and there. "Have your cold dip and rest an hour, my dear. Dinner's at eight. Josita will come to help you." She opened the door and stood an instant on the threshold. Then she came back and took Honor's face between her hands and looked long at her.
"Have you found this out yourself?" he asked, after a pause. "Yes. One of my friends at the convent was Josita Castro; she knew all the history of the Arguellos. She is perfectly satisfied." For an instant Paul wondered if it was a joint conception of the two schoolgirls. But, on reflection, he was persuaded that Yerba would commit herself to no accomplice of her own sex.
"When Colonel Pendleton and some of the other trustees have no right to say anything," thought Paul quickly. She had evidently trusted him. Yet, fascinated as he had been by her audacity, he did not know whether to be pleased, or the reverse. He would have preferred to be placed on an equal footing with Josita Castro. She anticipated his thoughts by saying, with half-raised eyelids:
"Josita will show you the way," she said in quite another tone. "You must carry my sunshade and not walk too quickly." Honor tried not to walk too quickly but she kept catching up with the Mexican serving woman and passing her on the path, and falling back again with a smile of apology, and the woman smiled in return, showing white, even teeth.
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