"So, now I am more than fourteen years and a half, large of my age, beautiful as all may see, of a wisdom to astonish you. In one year more, thou shalt find me a husband. Many _novios_ have I had already! Four serenades were made to me the night before I left Guadalajara, and on the boat--" She turned to the elderly gentleman with a complacent and pitying smile. "But"--she took account for the first time of Michael Daragh--"_quien es el hombron?_" (Who is the big man?) "_Tu novio?_" I admitted that he was my betrothed. "_No es tu esposo?_" she quivered with tentative rage. I assured her that he was not yet my husband. "Very well, then," she said in English, "we shall see. Only, I warn thee, if when thy children come, thou lovest them more than me, I will burn out their eyes with red-hot curling irons!" (Her English is heavily accented but perfectly--horribly--understandable.) A merciful Providence let down the gangplank and she flung herself, her shrieking, cursing parrot, her shivering dog, into my arms. Santa Catalina's seed and water cups were emptied on my frock; Jose-Maria set his little dagger teeth in my sleeve; a fierce scent assailed my nostrils; a shower of powder frosted my shoulder. I freed myself to speak to the geologist who seemed eager to be on his way. "I am very grateful to you," I said, mendaciously. "I hope it has not been too much trouble." "I got her here, didn't I?" he said with an air of weary pride. He looked so haggard that my heart smote me. "_Senor_ Morales should not have burdened you. You look ill and----" "I was a well, strong man when I left Vera Cruz," he said darkly. "I wish you luck, Miss Vail." He took one step and halted. "Do you believe in corporal punishment?" "Mercy, no! It's a relic of barbarism. No one does, now!" "You will," he said, earnestly, "you will! Corporal punishment?--My God,--_capital_!" "Farewell, old camel," Dolores called, kindly, after his retreating figure. "Go with God!" "Michael Daragh," I whispered, when we at last were packed into the taxi, "couldn't we stop at some school on the way home and leave her?" "Not in those clothes, woman dear,--not with those animals." "_Cuidado, Hombron!_" said my dewy-eyed dove. "If you seek to turn from me the heart of my virgin mother (she pronounces it veergeen mawther), I will not let her marry with you, and you will be old sour face _soltero_, and she will dress the saints! But," she went on indulgently, "if you are good to me, I am good to you! See,--I kiss up to God!"--and she wafted a heavily scented kiss toward the ceiling of the taxicab. Desperately, JANE. CHAPTER XXI _Wednesday._