“A thousand pardons, ladies! I hope I’ve not disturbed you by this little story. I should not have mentioned it. It’s a gruesome thing, and I don’t like to think of it myself. Miss Bellwood led me into telling you about it.” “I am very interested,” declared Inza immediately. “Why was your father murdered?” “It’s a very long story. I cannot tell you everything in connection with it now, but there were enemies who wished him out of the way. You know my family has been connected with revolutions and government troubles ever since the days of Miguel Hidalgo. And I may add, by the way, that the blood of the Hidalgoes runs in my veins. I can trace my family back to Aneta Hidalgo, the half-sister of the famous priest who led the first insurrection against the provincial government.” “Your family history must be very interesting, señor,” said Inza. “I should love to hear something of it.” “Perhaps you may some time, señorita,” he bowed. “Just now it would give me pleasure to amuse you both with the guitar, if you don’t object.” “Not in the least,” Inza hastened to say. He drew up a chair and sat down. “Wait a minute,” he said. “How is the wind? There seems to be scarcely a breath. Still, I think you’re to leeward of me, to use a nautical term. I will change to the opposite side, as I wish to smoke a cigarette, to which I hope you have no objections.” He made the change and sat close at Inza’s right hand. In a moment, having received permission from her, he was deftly rolling a cigarette. “It always interests me to watch an expert roll a cigarette,” she laughed. “They do it so cleverly. It’s like magic.” “You should see a Mexican vaquero roll one,” he said. “Some of them do it with one hand while riding at full gallop on the back of a horse.” He struck a match and lighted the cigarette, at which he puffed in a manner of absolute satisfaction and content, at the same time continuing the conversation. “Have you ever visited my country, señorita?” he asked, directing the question toward Inza. “Never yet,” she answered. “You have missed much,” he declared. “Old Mexico is the fairest land in all the world. The American who simply crosses the line and visits the northern part of Mexico comes away with a bad opinion of it. He sees deserts and a country that is both mountainous and arid. Besides that, in the north the Indians roam restlessly and create much trouble. But let the visitor go as far south as the City of Mexico—let him go beyond. Ah! the south of Mexico; it’s like paradise! The climate is perfect. Down there in many places the thermometer never reaches eighty by day and never sinks below sixty by night. It’s a land of peace and plenty. If a man is lazy, he need not lift his hand to work from one year’s end to another.” “You say it’s a land of peace and plenty,” laughed Inza. “Perhaps it’s a land of plenty, but I don’t think it has always been a land of peace.”