Nascio nevertheless still lingered. Perceiving which, Clarence handed him a cigarette and proceeded to light one himself. He knew that the vacquero would reroll his, and that that always deliberate occupation would cover and be an excuse for further confidence. “The Senora Peyton does not perhaps meet this Pedro in the society of San Francisco?” “Surely not. The senora is in mourning and goes not out in society, nor would she probably go anywhere where she would meet a dismissed servant of her husband.” Incarnacion slowly lit his cigarette, and said between the puffs, “And the senorita--she would not meet him?” “Assuredly not.” “And,” continued Incarnacion, throwing down the match and putting his foot on it, “if this boaster, this turkey-cock, says she did, you could put him out like that?” “Certainly,” said Clarence, with an easy confidence he was, however, far from feeling, “if he really SAID it--which I doubt.” “Ah, truly,” said Incarnacion; “who knows? It may be another Senorita Silsbee.” “The senora's adopted daughter is called MISS PEYTON, friend Nascio. You forget yourself,” said Clarence quietly. “Ah, pardon!” said Incarnacion with effusive apology; “but she was born Silsbee. Everybody knows it; she herself has told it to Pepita. The Senor Peyton bequeathed his estate to the Senora Peyton. He named not the senorita! Eh, what would you? It is the common cackle of the barnyard. But I say 'Mees Silsbee.' For look you. There is a Silsbee of Sacramento, the daughter of her aunt, who writes letters to her. Pepita has seen them! And possibly it is only that Mees of whom the brigand Pedro boasts.” “Possibly,” said Clarence, “but as far as this rancho is concerned, friend Nascio, thou wilt understand--and I look to thee to make the others understand--that there is no Senorita SILSBEE here, only the Senorita PEYTON, the respected daughter of the senora thy mistress!” He spoke with the quaint mingling of familiarity and paternal gravity of the Spanish master--a faculty he had acquired at El Refugio in a like vicarious position, and which never failed as a sign of authority. “And now,” he added gravely, “get out of this, friend, with God's blessing, and see that thou rememberest what I told thee.” The retainer, with equal gravity, stepped backwards, saluted with his sombrero until the stiff brim scraped the floor, and then solemnly withdrew.