It was hardly surprising that the discovery came thus tardily. The philosophical habit of mind induced by constant association with fatalistic Indians was not to be cast off like a disused garment. When each day resembled its predecessor, when the needs of the hour rendered care for the morrow an additional burden, he had trained himself to live, and almost to think, according to savage ethics, and it was with a positive shock that he awoke to the fact that before many hours had sped he would be alone. But, once it had entered his soul, the leaven worked rapidly. They were talking in conventional strain about her father's plans for the future, which centered around a small sporting estate in Derbyshire, once owned by his family and now in the market, when Power rose suddenly. "If you have finished luncheon," he said, "come with me into the gardens across the plaza. We'll leave word of our whereabouts with the hotel people, so that Mr. Sinclair will not think I have abducted you." She paled slightly, and seemed to hesitate, but only for an instant. "Why not?" she said, dropping the white double veil she always wore in public. Power rather looked for some biting retort when he spoke of abducting her, and her unexpected meekness was somewhat disconcerting. Each was tongue-tied, and they walked away together in silence. A good many eyes followed them as they left the hotel, for the girl's slender, lissome figure and noticeably elegant carriage would have attracted the attention of more censorious critics than a gathering of Spanish-Americans, while the wealth of brown hair which crowned her shapely head and column-like neck was adequately set off by a smart hat. Power, too, evoked some comment. People who saw him for the first time invariably asked who he was. A man who has twice established an empire, even among Indians, cannot possibly lack distinction, no matter how effectually the outfitting tailor may democratize him. They entered the gardens, and Power led Marguerite to a seat under a tree whose spreading branches, broad-leafed and flower-laden, supplied grateful shade. If he could have peered beneath that heavy veil, he would have seen that his companion was obviously ill at ease; but there was no trace of nervousness in her voice when she said, with a laugh: "This, I suppose, is the local Garden of Eden." "Why?" he inquired. "Because we are reclining under a Paradise tree." "I don't see any serpents, and I cannot bring myself to regard you as either a cherub or a seraph." "How unkind of you! Here have I been behaving angelically all day, just because you will soon see the last of me, and that is my reward."