"I know it, you blessed old scalawag!" Don Mike replied in English, and ruffled the grizzled old head before passing on to the expectant Carolina, who folded him tightly in her arms and wept soundlessly when he kissed her leathery cheek. While he was murmuring words of comfort to her, Pablo got up on his feet and recovered his hat. "You see," he said to Kay, in a confidential tone, "Don Miguel Jose Maria Federico Noriaga Farrel loves us. Never no woman those boy kees since hees mother die twenty year before. So Carolina have the great honor like me. Yes!" "Oh, but you haven't seen him kiss his sweetheart," Kay bantered the old man--and then blushed, in the guilty knowledge that her badinage had really been inspired by a sudden desire to learn whether Don Mike had a sweetheart or not. Pablo promptly and profanely disillusioned her. "Those boy, he don' have some sweethearts, mees lady. He's pretty parteecular." He paused a moment and looked her in the face meaningly. "Those girls in thees country--pah! Hee's pretty parteecular, those boy." His childish arrogance and consuming pride in his master stirred the girl's sense of humor. "I think your Don Mike is _too_ particular," she whispered. "Personally, I wouldn't marry him on a bet." His slightly bloodshot eyes flickered with rage. "You never get a chance," he assured her. "Those boy is of the _gente_. An' we don' call heem 'Don Mike' now. Before, yes; but now he is 'Don Miguel,' like hees father. Same, too, like hees gran'father." Throughout this colloquy, Carolina had been busy exculpating herself from possible blame due to her failure to have prepared for the prodigal the sort of food she knew he preferred. Farrel had quite a task pacifying her. At length he succeeded in gently dismissing both servants, and followed Kay toward the patio. The girl entered first, and discovered that her family and their guest were not on the veranda, whereat she turned and gave her hand to Farrel. "The butler will bring you some dinner to your room. We breakfast at eight-thirty. Good-night." "Thank you," he replied. "I shall be deeper in your debt if you will explain to your father and mother my apparent lack of courtesy in failing to call upon them this evening." He held her hand for a moment. Then he bowed, gracefully and with studied courtesy, cap in hand, and waited until she had turned to leave him before he, in turn, betook himself to his room. IX It was as he had left it. He smiled sadly as he noted his civilian clothes laid out on the bed. However, he would not wear them to-night. A little later, while he was hanging them in the clothes-press, a propitiatory cough sounded at the door. Turning, he beheld the strangest sight ever seen on the Rancho Palomar--a butler, bearing a tray covered with a napkin.