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in reserve. It was as if the two women rushed together to unite against his silence and his powerful, different significance.

Kate knew at once that Doña Carlota loved him , but with a love that was now nearly all will. She had worshipped him, and she had had to leave off worshipping him. She had had to question him. And she would never now cease from questioning.

So he sat apart, a little constrained, his handsome head hanging a little, and his dark sensitive hands dangling between his thighs.

“I had such a time!” Kate said suddenly to him. “I danced a round the drum with the Men of Quetzalcoatl.”

“I heard,” he said, with a rather stiff smile.

Dona Carlota understood English, though she not speak it.

“You danced with the men of Quetzalcoatl!” she said in Spanish, in a pained voice. “But, Señora, why did you do such a thing? Oh why?”

“I was fascinated,” said Kate.

“No, you must not be fascinated. No! No! It is not good. I tell you, I am so sorry my husband interests himself in this thing. I am so sorry.”

Juana was bringing a bottle of vermouth: all that Kate had to offer her visitors, in the morning.

“You went to see your boys in the United States?” said Kate to Doña Carlota. “How were they?”

“Oh, better, thank you. They are well; that is, the younger is very delicate.”

“You didn’t bring him home?”

“No! No! I think they are better at school Here—here—there are so many things to trouble them. No! But they will come home next month, for the vacation.”

“How nice!” said Kate. Then I shall see them. They will be here, won’t they?—on the lake?”

“Well I—I am not sure. Perhaps for a little while. You see I am so busy in Mexico with my Cuna.”

“What is a Cuna?” said Kate; she only knew it was the Spanish for cradle.

It turned out to be a home, run by a few obscure Carmelite sisters. And Doña Carlota was the