"Caramba!" he muttered. "How sprang that flower of Spain from
such a gnarled old tree as you, Gallito? Dios! But she is salado!"
Gallito frowned a little, which did not in the least disconcert Jose,
and, rising, he moved a small table forward, opened it and then going to
a cupboard in the wall drew from it a short, squat bottle, four glasses
and a pack of cards. "Your room is just beyond this," he said, turning
to Pearl. "Jose says that you will find everything ready for you. You
must be tired. You had better go to bed."
Pearl twitched her shoulders impatiently. "I am not sleepy," she said
sullenly. She threw herself in the chair that Gallito had vacated and
lay there watching the fire with somber, wild eyes.
Jose threw another log on the fire and then the two men and two women
sat down to their cards. A clock ticked steadily, monotonously, on the
mantel-piece, but whether an hour or ten minutes passed while she sat
there watching the brilliant, soaring flame of the pine logs Pearl could
not have told, when suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by
the sound of someone whistling along the road. It seemed a long way off
at first, but gradually came nearer and nearer, tuneful and clear as the
song of a bobolink.
"Saint Harry, by all the saints or devils!" cried Jose with a burst of
his shrill laughter. "Ah, Francisco, the devil is a shrewd fellow; when
he can't manage a job himself, he always gets a woman to help him." His
glancing, twinkling eyes sought Pearl, who had barely turned her head as
her father rose to open the door for the newcomer, exclaiming with some
show of cordiality:
"Ah, Seagreave, come in, come in.
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