"Oh," said Honor in her hearty and honest voice, holding out a frank hand, "this is the _kindest_ country! _Every one_ has been so good to me! I wish I could thank you enough!" The old gentleman stood very straight and a dark color surged up in his swarthy face. "Then, dear young lady, you will perhaps have the graciousness to say a pleasant word for us in that country of yours which does not love us too well! You will perhaps say we are not all barbarians." He gave an order to his coachman and the quaint old carriage turned slowly and precisely and started on its long return trip, the _Profesor_, still bareheaded, bowing, his daughter beaming and kissing her hand. Honor held herself rigidly to the task of seeing them off. Then--_Jimsy!_ Where was he? She had had a childish feeling that he would be instantly visible when she got there; she had come from Italy to Mexico,--from Florence to a coffee plantation beyond Cordoba in the _tierra caliente_ to find him,--and journeys ended in lovers' meeting, every wise man's son--and daughter--knew. The nods and becks and wreathed smiles of the serving woman brought her back to earth. "Senora King?" She asked, dutifully, for her hostess--her unconscious hostess--first. "_Si Senorita! Pronto!_" The servant beckoned her into a dim, cool _sala_ and disappeared. "Well, I know what that means," Honor told herself. "'Right away.' Oh, I _hope_ it's right away!" But it was not. The Kings, like all sensible people, were at their _siesta_; twenty racking moments went by before they came in. Richard King was older than Jimsy's father but he had the same look of race and pride, and his wife was a plain, rather tired-looking Englishwoman with very white teeth and broodingly tender blue eyes which belied the briskness of her manner. "I am Honor Carmody." "You are----" Mrs. King came forward, frowning a little. "I--I am engaged to your nephew--to Jimsy King. I think you must have heard of me." "My dear, of course we have! How very nice to see you! But--how--and where did you----" The girl interrupted breathlessly. "Oh, please,--I'll tell you everything, in a minute. But I must know about him! I came from Italy because--because of his trouble at college. Is he--is he----" she kept telling herself that she was Honor Carmody, the tomboy-girl who never cried or made scenes--Jimsy's Skipper--her dear Stepper's Top Step; she was not a silly creature in a novel; she would not scream and beg them to tell her--_tell her_--even if they stood there staring at her for hours longer. And then she heard Richard King saying in a voice very like his brother's, a little like Jimsy's: "Why, the boy's all right! Ab-so-lutely all right! Isn't he, Madeline? Steady as a clock. That college nonsense----"