Law was likable, and he
inspired her with a sense of security to which she had long been a
stranger. "Mr. Austin ought to know," she added, "about this--
matter we were discussing, and I want him to meet you."
"He has!" Dave said, shortly; and at his tone Alaire looked up.
"So!" She studied his grim face. "And you quarreled?"
"I'd really prefer to go on, ma'am. I'll get to Jonesville
somehow."
"You refuse--to stay under his roof?"
"That's about it."
"I'm sorry." She did not ask for further explanation.
Evening came, bringing a grateful coolness, and they drove through
a tunnel of light walled in by swiftly moving shadows.
The windows of Las Palmas were black, the house silent, when they
arrived at their journey's end; Dolores was fretful, and her
mistress ached in every bone. When Jose had helped his
countrywoman into the house Alaire said:
"If you insist upon going through you must take the car. You can
return it to-morrow."
"And--about Panfilo?" Dave queried.
"Wait. Perhaps I'll decide what is best to do in the mean time.
Good night."
Law took her extended hand. Alaire was glad that he did not fondle
it in that detestable Mexican fashion of which she had lately
experienced so much; glad that the grasp of his long, strong
fingers was merely firm and friendly.
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