"Which of them?" and Bryton made a gesture toward a group of dark faces across the plaza. "There is pretty Lizetta, Teresa; and if one wants the other sort, there is Chola Martina staring at us both under her mantilla." "It is you she stares at. The Lieutenant danced with her last night. He is just off the ranges, so she is to-day crazy over the Americanos. No--it is not any of such girls you are for." "I reckon not," agreed the young fellow. "I think it is just the atmosphere, and perhaps the old monastery. The pictures of Mexican towns paint themselves on the memory and stay there. Were you ever in Old Mexico, Don Juan?" "Not I; never have I been a travelled man. But you--?" "I was down there a year ago," answered Bryton, looking hard at the hills. "I found a town in a valley like this,--there were just the same sort of 'dobes, and the same sort of big church walls,--only it was a nuns' cloister, instead of a deserted monastery." "And--?" "I'll never go back, but--I'll never forget it! That old broken wall, and Moorish chimney, and the doves--they all belong to the same sort of picture. I come here to sit and moon over them once in a while, that's all!" The old man regarded him with shrewd, kindly eyes. He had the strain of Spanish blood, condoning many follies of youth. "So!" he said, kindly. "Thou comest here to dance with the girls of San Juan, that the other girl may be forgotten? Ai--yi!--these other sweethearts are fellows who make much trouble!--so?" "It is something more than a sweetheart keeps me away," remarked the young fellow after a slight pause. "A mere sweetheart is not such a barricade; most of us are perverse enough to think it rather an incentive." "You too, my friend?" "Who knows?" The old man puffed out another cigaretto and threw the stump away before he spoke. "The wives of other men it is wise to go clear of, my friend." Keith laughed more than the remark called for; in fact, his amusement dispelled the murky thoughts by which he had been driven to the hospitable veranda. "True--very true; but which of us is always wise?" Alvara made no reply to this, only shook his head, and the other, noting the perplexity of it, chuckled. "Don't lose sleep over my depravity," he suggested. "I am no blacker than the rest of the sheep." "Even then thou wouldst fall far short of whiteness," remarked the older man. "The padre swears that San Juan will have worse than earthquakes if there is no reform." "That is bad," said Keith, with owl-like gravity. "It is bad, senor--and it is true. I heard him say it but an hour ago. He was playing _malilla_ with old Henrico and won three pesos. He says it is wrong to race horses on Sunday, since Jose went under and had his neck broke. Jose, like Miguel, had not confessed, and the padre wants money for a mass." "Will he get it?" "Sure. The boys will not see him stay in purgatory for thirty pesos. They are throwing dice at Don Eduardo's now, to see who will pay."