And Francis lied. He did not mention seeing the Lady Who Dreams in his New York library. Instead, he replied: “It was a stock-ticker, and it showed a bear market on Wall Street somersaulting into a panic. Now how did she know I was interested in Wall Street and stock-tickers?” CHAPTER XIX “Somebody’s got to marry that crazy woman,” Leoncia spoke up, as they lolled upon the mats of the room to which the priest had taken them. “Not only will he be a hero by saving our lives, but he will save his own life as well. Now, Senor Torres, is your chance to save all our lives and your own.” “Br-r-r!” Torres shivered. “I would not marry her for ten million gold. She is too wise. She is terrible. She—how shall I say?—she, as you Americans say, gets my goat. I am a brave man. But before her I am not brave. The flesh of me melts in a sweat of fear. Not for less than ten million would I dare to overcome my fear. Now Henry and Francis are braver than I. Let one of them marry her.” “But I am engaged to marry Leoncia,” Henry spoke up promptly. “Therefore, I cannot marry the Queen.” And their eyes centered on Francis, but, before he could reply, Leoncia broke in. “It is not fair,” she said. “No one of you wants to marry her. The only equitable way to settle it will be by drawing lots.” As she spoke, she pulled three straws from the mat on which she sat and broke one off very short. “The man who draws the short straw shall be the victim. You, Senor Torres, draw first.” “Wedding bells for the short straw,” Henry grinned. Torres crossed himself, shivered, and drew. So patently long was the straw, that he executed a series of dancing steps as he sang: “No wedding bells for me, I’m as happy as can be ...” Francis drew next, and an equally long straw was his portion. To Henry there was no choice. The remaining straw in Leoncia’s hand was the fatal one. All tragedy was in his face as he looked instantly at Leoncia. And she, observing, melted in pity, while Francis saw her pity and did some rapid thinking. It was the way out. All the perplexity of the situation could be thus easily solved. Great as was his love for Leoncia, greater was his man’s loyalty to Henry. Francis did not hesitate. With a merry slap of his hand on Henry’s shoulder, he cried: “Well, here’s the one unattached bachelor who isn’t afraid of matrimony. I’ll marry her.” Henry’s relief was as if he had been reprieved from impending death. His hand shot out to Francis’ hand, and, while they clasped, their eyes gazed squarely into each other’s as only decent, honest men’s may gaze. Nor did either see the dismay registered in Leoncia’s face at this unexpected denouement. The Lady Who Dreams had been right. Leoncia, as a woman, was unfair, loving two men and denying the Lady her fair share of men.