r. When repeatedly vague fears
on Betty's account disturbed him he told himself not to be a fool and
sought to dismiss them for good. What though Zoraida had indulged in
wild talk? At least she was a woman and though she held Betty for
ransom would be woman enough to hold her in safety. And yet his fears
surged back, stronger each time, and he would have given a good deal to
know just where and how Betty was spending the long hours of this
interminable day.

Finally came dusk, time of the first stars in the sky and lighted lamps
in men's houses. And, bringing him infinite relief, a tap at his door
and the gentle voice of Rosita saying:

"La Senorita invites Senor Kendric, if he has rested sufficiently, to
join her and her other guests at table."

He followed the little maid to the great dim dining-room.
Purple-shaded lamps created an atmosphere which impressed him as a
little weird; the long table was set forth elaborately with much rich
silver and sparkling glass; several men servants stood ready to place
chairs and serve; there were rare white flowers in tall vases, looking
a bluish-white under the lamps. As Kendric came to the threshold wide
double doors across the room opened and Zoraida's other "guests"
entered. They were Bruce, stiff and uncomfortable, seeming to be doing
his best to unbend toward Betty; Betty herself, flushed and excited;
Barlow, morose because of the arm he wore in a sling or because of a
day not passed to his liking; and Ruiz Rios, suave and immaculate in
white flannels.

When they were all in the room a constraint like a tangible inhibition
against any natural spontaneity fell over them. Kendric read in
Barlow's look no joy at the sight of him but only a sullen brooding;
Betty flashed one look at him in which was nothing of last night's
friendliness but an aloofness which might have been compounded of scorn
and distrust; Bruce appeared not to notice him.

"Oh, well," was Kendric's inward comment. "The devil take the lot of
them."

Zoraida did not keep them waiting. One of the servants, as though he
had had some signal, threw open still another door and Zoraida, a
splendid, vivid and vital Zoraida, burst upon their sight. She was
gowned as though she had on the instant stepped from a fashionable
Paris salon. And as though, on her swift way hither, she had stopped
only an instant in some barbaric king's treasure house to snatch up and
bedeck herself with his most resplenden