"Yes; though I don't quite know what that means."
"Then I can't be expected to," she laughed.
His laughter joined hers; but presently he recurred to his question: "You haven't told me yet about Miss Valdés. Is she as lovely as they say she is?"
"I don't know just how lovely they say she is. Sometimes I have thought her very passable; then again--" She broke off with a defiant little laugh. "Don't you know, sir, that you mustn't ask one lady to praise the beauty of another?"
"I suppose I may ask questions?" he said, much amused.
"It depends a little on the questions."
"Is she tall?"
"Rather. About as tall as I am."
"And dark, of course, since she is a Spanish señorita"
"Yes, she is dark."
"Slim and graceful, I expect?"
"She is slender."
"I reckon she banks a heap on that blue blood of hers?"
"Yes; she is prouder of it than there is really any need of, though I think probably her pride is unconscious and a matter of habit."
"I haven't been able to make out yet whether you like her," he laughed.
"I don't see what my liking has to do with it."
"I expect to meet her, and I want to use your judgment to base mine on."
"Oh, you expect to meet her?"
She said it lightly, yet with a certain emphasis that he noted.
"Don't you think she will let me? Do I have to show blue blood before I can be presented? One of my ancestors came over on the Mayflower. Will that do?"
Her raillery met his.
"That ought to do, I should think. I suppose you have brought genealogical proofs with you?"
"I clean forgot. Won't you please get on and ride now? I feel like a false alarm, playing the invalid on you, ma'am."
"No; I'll walk. We're almost at the ranch. It's just under this hill. But there's one thing I want to ask of you as a favor."
"It's yours," he replied briefly.
She seemed to struggle with some emotion before she spoke: "Please don't mention Valencia Valdés while you are at the ranch. I--I have reasons, sir."
"Certainly; I'll do as you prefer."
To himself he thought that there was probably a feud of some kind between the two families that might make a mention of the name unpleasant. "And that reminds me that I don't know what your name is. Mine is Muir--Richard Muir."
"And mine is Maria Yuste."
He offered her his brown hand. "I'm right happy to meet you, Señorita Maria."
"Welcome to the Yuste hacienda, señor. What is ours is yours, so long as you are our guest. I pray you make yourself at home," she said as they rode into the courtyard.