On the floor were Navajo rugs, black and white, gray and red, and angora sheep pelts, dyed to inconceivable Mexican hues. The furniture was of various kinds, mostly ugly, except for a set of willow which belonged on the porch, a couch covered with a fine old Chimayo rug, blue and white as only those Indians can make them, and a battered old Spanish table, hand-carved, but, alas, not valued by any one but Jimmy Hovey. Raquel sank upon the sofa and Jimmy seated himself beside her, lighting a cigarette. “Just one, old Jim,” warned Raquel. Jimmy grinned. “Bossing me straight off, aren’t you? But honestly, Big Boss, I haven’t coughed in six months.” “That’s because I made you cut it out.” Jimmy smiled gently and nodded. Jimmy had a most gentle way. It might deceive you unless you saw him angry, the way he got that time when Pancho Esquibal’s brother beat the Alezan mare over the head. Ugh-h-h. It made her shiver to think of it. But she had liked Jimmy ever since. Now she noticed for the first time how good-looking he was. His head was so round and so straight on his shoulders. And he seemed taller than she remembered him, bigger. “I’ve gained twenty pounds, you know, since last year.” Jimmy’s eyes twinkled. “You mustn’t tell all you think, Raquel--with your eyes.” Jimmy’s hair was crisp and wavy, rather blonde, and his eyes were extremely blue. He had a cleft in his chin when he smiled, and he smiled often. Yes, Raquel decided, he was the same old Jimmy, and the only reason she hadn’t thought about how he looked was that he was just so nice that she had never thought of anything else. And then he was thin and ever so sick when he first came. Jimmy was studying Raquel thoughtfully and appreciatively. He had done little else since her return. By George, what a development in three months! First of all, the clothes. Jimmy’s city-bred eye could scarcely fail to take them in at once. By George, the right clothes, cloth, cut, color, and all that, certainly did show a pretty girl off to advantage! But the other change, inside, he was studying now. The same Raquel in most ways--her smile was as warm and unaffected as when she had left. But she didn’t talk as much as one would expect of Raquel on getting back from school. And she seemed to avoid him somehow, in little strange evasions. “Tell me a bit about it, Raquel,” he begged, “about school. How did it go off? I had only one letter from you, you know, and that was largely taken up describing the difference in the training of the eastern girls’ high school horse, and our western horses!” “Oh, Jimmy, I did too write you another letter!” “Yes, that one was all about how much further advanced we were in our Medieval History. But not a word of yourself.” Jimmy knocked out his cigarette. “What of my little cousin?”