It was significant that on Mariquita's appearance no spoken comment was made by any of the cowboys, though to each of them she was the most absorbing figure. Her father had fetched her from Loretto three days before the wedding, and at the Convent had been introduced to a learned-looking but agreeable ecclesiastic who was a rector of a college for lay youths. Don Joaquin, much interested, had plied the reverend pundit with inquiries concerning this seat of learning, not forgetting particular inquisition as to the terms. On their conclusion he took notes in writing of all the replies and declared that it sounded exactly what he would choose for his own son. "I would like," he said, with a simplicity that rather touched the rector, "that my lad should grow up with more education than I ever had." "Your son," surmised the rector, "would be younger than his sister?" "He would," Don Joaquin admitted, without condescending upon particulars. CHAPTER XXXVI. When Gore next saw Mariquita in public she herself was dressed as a bride. It was a little more than a year later. After her return to Loretto she remained there about three weeks, at the end of which she went home to the range for a week. Her parents (as Don Joaquin insisted on describing himself and Sarella) had returned from their wedding trip, and she could see that the marriage was a success. The two new servants were installed, and Ginger was now Mrs. Lawrence Burke and absent on _her_ wedding journey. Mariquita's father made more of her than of old, and inwardly resolved to make up to "her brother" for any shortcomings there might have been in her case. Sarella was unfeignedly glad to have her at home, and looked forward sadly to her final departure. Of one thing she was resolved--that Mariquita should be taken all the way to her "Carmel" in California by both "her parents." And, of course, she got her own way. The extreme beauty of the Convent and its surroundings, the glory of the climate, the brilliance of its light, the splendor of the blue and gold of sky and hills, half blinded Sarella to the rigor of the life Mariquita was entering--till the moment of actual farewell came. Then her tears fell, far more plentifully than Mr. Kane's at her own wedding. Still she admitted that the nuns were as cheerful as the sky, and wondered if she had ever heard more happy laughter than theirs as they sat on the floor, with Mariquita in their midst, behind the grille in the "speak-room." As a postulant Mariquita did not wear the habit, but only a sort of cloak over her own dress; her glorious hair was not yet cut off.