As soon as she was sure that he was not dead (she had heard of sudden death by heart failure) she was not aware of any feeling but deep chagrin. She did not follow when he was helped into the house and to his room by Estrada and ’Rome Ojeda; she sent old Manuela to him but she did not go herself. She went instead to her room and got out of her dust-grimed riding things and under a cold shower, and into one of the evening frocks which her Aunt Fan had made her buy. It was the scarlet one, and she piled her dark hair high and put in her carved ivory comb which had come down to her from her Valdés grandmother, and put a red flower behind her ear, and regarded herself in her small mirror with hearty and entire satisfaction. Not three times in her life had she ever dressed herself so painstakingly, or been so pleased with the result. She went to the dining room and looked over the lavish supper and summoned in her guests, and after the riotous meal she started the dance with ’Rome Ojeda, and she was dancing with him for the fourth time in an hour when her aunt came into the room and called her. Mrs. Featherstone told her that she was annoyed beyond words, but this seemed hardly a correct statement of her case, as she proceeded to emit sharp staccato showers of them. She called her niece among other things a heartless young savage and asked her what she thought of herself, eating and dancing and flirting like that, when her sweetheart was sick and suffering. Ginger, as a matter of fact, thought very well of herself that evening; she was as hard and bright as polished metal and no more tender. Presently--in the morning, perhaps--she would be wretchedly aware of the crudeness and cruelty of her attitude; now she was unyielding. “Oh, does he want to see me?” She shrugged, and when she did that she was all Valdés. Dean Wolcott would have been reminded of a Goya painting, but Aunt Fan was too angry to be reminded of anything. “Of course he wants to see you! Why shouldn’t he?” “Did he ask you to bring me?” Her eyes were fathomless. “No, he didn’t; he has too much pride, of course, but----” “Pride!” said Ginger, bitterly. “I shouldn’t think he’d have much pride left, after to-day!” “Now, that just shows how childish and ridiculous your standards are,” her aunt scolded. “Just because he happens not to be able to ride like a buckeroo--because he’s lived a different sort of life----”