"A fine laugh you have made for me in Los Angeles! They will think you were sick, that I follow my wife!" he said, frowning at Ana. "God of my soul! Why do you not get another husband to worry into the grave, and let your neighbors alone?" She only laughed again, and bent over her embroidery frame, where white butterflies were being woven on the drawn threads of linen. "Because no fine, manly, handsome caballero like yourself rides this way to ask me," she retorted. "All the most desirable men are always married." "The Senor Bryton was here for the night," remarked Juanita. "Oh, he was? Alone?" asked Rafael. Juanita nodded. "And a priest," she added. "They both rode south." "Bryton alone?" mused Rafael. "I thought perhaps--Did any strangers ride south last night,--a large party?" No one had heard of any one passing. "Dona Maria comes in a carriage by this morning," he remarked, "and Mrs. Bryton. I suppose they will want you to travel in their carriage, if you feel equal to the drive to San Juan." "Oh, she must not go to-day--not for anything!" decided Dona Refugia, who had come from the hall and overheard. "Dona Maria and her friend can stop here a few days, and then perhaps if your wife is strong enough--" "Certainly, that is the best, the very best," assented Rafael, with a smile of relief. Dona Refugia was making it necessary that Raquel should at least meet the friends of Dona Maria. All was turning out well, after all. Raquel made no remark, only looked out idly across the garden to the fields, yellow where the mustard bloom glowed. She knew she could not bear it just yet. Later, perhaps, she could grow strong enough to see Bryton's wife, and hear her voice cut across the days and the dusks here, where his whispers had awakened her to life--some day, perhaps; but she knew it could not be either to-day or to-morrow. Her husband watched her curiously. If she would only give some sign of what she felt, as another woman would do! How was a man to read a woman who stared out on life like a sphinx, seeing nothing and hearing nothing? In the same way, she had seemed a bit of wood over that old legend of the curse on San Juan: it had not changed in the least her determination to go back there; yet, since she had screamed of it in a fever, who was to know what feeling it had awakened back of those fathomless violet eyes? Rafael turned this theory over in his mind, and smoked several cigarros to help to solve the problem, but it was of no use. It had been a very fine marriage for him. Her visit to Los Angeles had further emphasized that fact; but he had the galling feeling of being only prince-consort to the queen, and it was not so pleasant to a man who had been shown favor of a different sort by many women who would have been glad to give him the king's place.