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 "Then it is the white dress that you admire; I am just the same," she returned, but pleased and smiling, for Borromeo was not a man to speak compliments or give flattery. The wonder of her attractiveness was in his round eyes. It was as if he had made a discovery.

"It is the honor of cooking for a governor that makes you glow like a little star in a white cloud, doña. A man might be jealous of a woman for that, seeing her so happy serving another fellow when she has had only growls for him to go with his soup out of the black pot."

"It is a marvel, your knowledge of women," she twitted him, yet too happy for the acrimony that she knew so well how to tip her ready tongue with, like the flint of an arrow, making the softest sounding words sometimes very hard and sharp when they were felt. "It is a pity you haven't one of your own to make you wiser."

"Maybe another ship will come some day, doña, bringing my chance. Who knows?"

"It would be better to take a ship away from this country, as Don Geronimo and I have decided to do. This is a sad land, it is full of hardships. Don Geronimo never will stand the same man that he was a few days ago. But I forget, I do not mean to laugh at you, Borromeo. You are not yet free to go."

"Two cursed years yet to hold me here, like an Indian slave! Well, a man could be in worse hands than Padre Ignacio's, and he might be where the