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Updated: May 22, 2025
"No, but I know that she wants you," she replied. "Are you sure?" he persisted. "Don't be a foolish boy," she said, with a gesture of impatience. "No one in the world knows Consuello as well as I do. I am doing this for her. Do you think for a moment that I would be here if I wasn't certain I was doing the proper thing?" "I know she trusts you," he said, reassured by her mild vexation.
"How is she?" he asked, his voice betraying his anxiety. "She is very brave," Betty said, earnestly. "Perhaps I should not ask you this, but has she seen Gibson?" So much, he felt, depended on her reply to this question. If Consuello had already talked with Gibson and Betty divined that she wanted to see him, then "Perhaps I should not tell you, but she has talked to him.
She smiled, a strange and, to him, an unnatural smile, made so by the rouged lips and painted face. Had it not been for the sound of her voice he would have doubted if the girl before him, still holding his hand while the others scrutinized him, was Consuello. "Speak, or I won't know it's you," he said. "Were you really surprised?" she asked. "Beyond words," he assured her.
If she had spoken against the name of his dead father John could not have been more startled than by this questioning in his mother's mind of Consuello. "I don't think anything," she said, again stroking his head. "But, between you and me, John, there should be not even the slightest misunderstanding. That's why I have spoken to you like this.
"He saw the original scenes played and pretended to be madly jealous of the leading man." The "location" on which the cameras were trained for the scenes enacted by Consuello was idealistic as an outdoor setting. Shasta daisies, primroses and stalks of purple and white larkspur, in riotous profusion, gave splotches of bright color that stood out vividly against the bosky green.
During the pre-view, which lasted an hour and a half, John had but few chances to converse with Consuello. She was busy with Bonwit, the director, and a half dozen others whom John decided were the technicians whose business it was to revise the film before it was released.
She wore an evening gown and her hair was arranged in a high coiffure that made her look taller, older. "Cut!" commanded the man in the horn-rim glasses. "That was splendid, Miss Carrillo, splendid." The cameras stopped grinding. Consuello rose laughing. The orchestra stopped abruptly. She came toward them, touching lightly at her cheeks with a tiny handkerchief.
As he took her in his arms to kiss her forehead tenderly he had a fantasy that the wonderfulness of his requited love had miraculously altered his mother's opinion of Consuello. But it was a fantasy, only that. "Mother, dearest," he whispered, "I'm the happiest man in the world, tonight."
Wooden shutters were opened at the windows, the sills of which were two feet in thickness. "The old Lugo ranch house," Consuello explained, catching his inquiring look. "Don Mario Lugo was a sturdy caballero in old Los Angeles. He had a silver mounted saddle, bridle and spurs that cost $1,500 and he wore an ornamental sword strapped to his saddle in Spanish soldier fashion.
She led the way across the floor, along a twisting and turning path, through furniture, furnishings and an accumulation of "props" to the door. As they stepped out into the daylight again her face was more unlike the face of the Consuello John knew than it had been in the half gloom inside. They crossed a narrow asphalt-paved road to a long two-story building.
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