atter would not try to overtake him, or would get
lost in attempting it.

Meanwhile he had not forgotten Garcia's little plan, and he had even
better remembered his own. The time might come when he would be driven to
_lose_ Clara; it was very shocking to think of, however, and so for the
present he did not think of it; on the contrary, he worked hard (much as
he hated work) at courting her.

It is strange that so many men who are morally in a state of decomposition
should be, or at least can be, sweet and charming in manner. During these
three days Coronado was delightful; and not merely in this, that he
watched over Clara's comfort, rode a great deal by her side, gathered wild
flowers for her, talked much and agreeably; but also in that he poured oil
over his whole conduct, and was good to everybody. Although his natural
disposition was to be domineering to inferiors and irascible under the
small provocations of life, he now gave his orders in a gentle tone, never
stormed at the drivers for their blunders, made light of the bad cooking,
and was in short a model for travellers, lovers, and husbands. Few human
beings have so much self-control as Coronado, and so little. So long as it
was policy to be sweet, he could generally be a very honeycomb; but once a
certain limit of patience passed, he was like a swarm of angry bees; he
became blind, mad, and poisonous with passion.

"Mr. Coronado, you are a wonder," proclaimed the admiring Aunt Maria. "You
are the only man I ever knew that was patient."

"I catch a grace from those who have it abundantly and to spare," said
Coronado, taking off his hat and waving it at the two ladies.

"Ah, yes, we women know how to be patient," smiled Aunt Maria. "I think we
are born so. But, more than that, we learn it. Moreover, our physical
nature teaches us. We have lessons of pain and weakness that men know
nothing of. The great, healthy savages! If they had our troubles, they
might have some of our virtues."

"I refuse to believe it," cried Coronado. "Man acquire woman's worth?
Never! The nature of the beast is inferior. He is not fashioned to become
an angel."

"How charmingly candid and humble!" thought Aunt Maria. "How different
from that sulky, proud Thurstane, who never says anything of the sort, and
never thinks it either, I'll be bound."

All this sort of talk passed over Clara as a desert wind passes over an
oasis, bringing no pleasant songs of birds, and sowing no fruitfu