Alaire was self-confident, strong-
willed; she took courage.
Her thoughts turned from her fears to the amazing reality of her
widowhood. Even yet she could not wholly credit the fact that Ed's
wasted life had come to an end and that she was free to make the
most of her own. Alaire remembered her husband now with more
tenderness, more charity, than she would have believed possible,
and it seemed to her pitiful that one so blessed with opportunity
should have worked such havoc with himself and with those near to
him.
Doubtless it was all a part of some providential scheme, too blind
for her to solve. Perhaps, indeed, her own trials had been
designed to the end that her greater, truer love, when it did
come, would find her ripe, responsive, ready. As for this Mexican
general, she would put him in his place.
Alaire was still walking the floor of her chamber when Dolores
entered, at dusk, to say that supper was ready and that General
Longorio was waiting.
"Ask him to excuse me," she told her servant.
But Longorio himself spoke from the next room, saying: "Senora, I
beg of you to honor me. I have much of importance to say, and time
presses.
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