“We have said it is not possible that this good man, who have come to the house and ride on his back the children, is a thief and a brigand. And one night my father have come from the Monterey in the coach, and it was stopped. And the brigands have take from the passengers the money, the rings from the finger, and the watch--and my father was of the same. And my father, he have great dissatisfaction and anguish, for his watch is given to him of an old friend, and it is not like the other watch. But the watch he go all the same. And then when the robbers have made a finish comes to the window of the coach a mascara and have say, 'Who is the Don Andreas Pico?' And my father have say, 'It is I who am Don Andreas Pico.' And the mask have say, 'Behold, your watch is restore!' and he gif it to him. And my father say, 'To whom have I the distinguished honor to thank?' And the mask say--” “Johnson,” interrupted Demorest. “No,” said Dona Rosita in grave triumph, “he say Essmith. For this Essmith is like Huanson--an apodo--nothing.” “Then you really think this man was your old friend?” asked Demorest. “I think.” “And that he was a robber even when living here--and that it was not your cruelty that really drove him to take the road?” Dona Rosita shrugged her plump shoulders. “You will not comprehend. It was because of his being a brigand that he stayed not with us. My father would not have object if he have present himself to me for marriage in these times. I would not have object, for I was young, and we have knew nothing. It was he who have object. For why? Inside of his heart he have feel he was a brigand.” “But you might have reformed him in time,” said Demorest. She again shrugged her shoulders. “Quien sabe.” After a pause she added with infinite gravity: “And before he have reform, it is bad for the menage. I should invite to my house some friend. They arrive, and one say, 'I have not the watch of my pocket,' and another, 'The ring of my finger, he is gone,' and another, 'My earrings, she is loss.' And I am obliged to say, 'They reside now in the pocket of my hoosband; patience! a little while--perhaps to-morrow--he will restore.' No,” she continued, with an air of infinite conviction, “it is not good for the menage--the necessity of those explanation.” “You told me he was handsome,” said Joan, passing her arm carelessly around Dona Rosita's comfortable waist. “How did he look?” “As an angel! He have long curls to his back. His moustache was as silk, for he have had never a barber to his face. And his eyes--Santa Maria!--so soft and so--so melankoly. When he smile it is like the moonlight. But,” she added, rising to her feet and tossing the end of her lace mantilla over her shoulder with a little laugh--“it is finish--Adelante! Dr-rrive on!”