While Juan entered the drawing-room Governor Lehumada removed his gloves and hat, and was glad to have the opportunity to collect himself, and when Juan reappeared, he asked: “Do you see any signs of displeasure on my face?” “No, your Honor; your face is as serene as the morning sky.” “Thanks, Juan. It is another victory. Take my hat and gloves, and tell the coachman to go to the Alameda. The child, Catalina Martinet, is there; should she desire to use the conveyance, take her wherever she wishes to go. Tell him to say to her that I had started for her, and at the last moment was disappointed at being unable to go,” whispered Governor Lehumada, into the ears of his trusty man. Was all the long message sent to the child meant only to be delivered for her ears? “Certainly not,” mentally remarked Juan. “I kind of have a suspicion that there is something more than ‘Memory Fluid’ bothering the Governor for several days; but then I am only Juan, and not a great Governor, author and scientist. I will experiment one day, if I can, and help to solve the great problem of life. I wonder if it is probable that the Governor has fallen in love with some beautiful young woman? I will find out, if it can be done. I will from this moment camp on his tracks, and when I have a chance I will _slip_ some ‘Memory Fluid,’ for I has a notion in my old head that I lived before. I has a notion that Mr. Niksab and J. Ecarg, were known to me somewhere, long, long ago.” He smiled to himself as he went out to give the Governor’s orders. On his return to the house he stationed himself conveniently near the drawing-room door, so close that every word uttered by the aggressive señorita was heard by him. When Governor Lehumada entered the drawing-room, he felt very much like a schoolboy who had been punished for not wanting to enter the parlor and be pleasant to callers. He was ashamed of himself, and tried to make amends for his actions by being more gracious than was necessary. Miss Motuble mistook his gallantry and great hospitality for demonstrations of love, and after greeting the object of her affections, she sank into a chair close by, much overcome with emotions. She believed she had won a conquest. She was unable for some minutes to speak. Her face became red and white by turns, her breast heaved with great convulsions, while her hand trembled so violently that she had no power over the fan she was trying to move. The Governor saw the condition she was in, and from the bottom of his heart he pitied her. The object of _his_ heart’s desire affected him much the same way when he saw her. “But I need no sympathy,” he argued to himself, “for my love is reciprocated; my Helen is mine, and I am hers. It is the law of the inevitable. It could not be otherwise. Miss Motuble,” he continued, “is there any way in which I can serve you this morning? Can it be you are not well?”