or at work, while the new was at leisure or in charge.

When the Delcasar carriage reached the hotel, it had to take its place in
a long line of crawling vehicles, most of which were motor cars. Ramon
felt acutely humiliated to arrive at the ball in a decrepit-looking rig
when nearly every one else came in an automobile. He hoped that no one
would notice them. But the smaller of the two horses, which had spent most
of his life in the country, became frightened, reared, plunged, and
finally backed the rig into one of the cars, smashing a headlight,
blocking traffic, and making the Delcasars a target for searchlights and
oaths. The Dona Delcasar, a ponderous and swarthy woman in voluminous
black silk, became excited and stood up in the carriage, shouting shrill
and useless directions to the coachman in Spanish. People began to laugh.
Ramon roughly seized his mother by the arm and dragged her down. He was
trembling with rage and embarassment.

It was an immense relief to him when he had deposited the two women on
chairs and was able to wander away by himself. He took up his position in
a doorway and watched the opening of the ball with a cold and disapproving
eye. The beginning was stiff, for many of those present were unknown to
each other and had little in common. Most of them were "Americans," Jews
and Mexicans. The men were all a good deal alike in their dress suits, but
the women displayed an astonishing variety. There were tall gawky blonde
wives of prominent cattlemen; little natty black-eyed Jewesses, best
dressed of all; swarthy Mexican mothers of politically important families,
resplendent in black silk and diamonds; and pretty dark Mexican girls of
the younger generation, who did not look at all like the sei?1/2oritas of
romance, but talked, dressed and flirted in a thoroughly American manner.

The affair finally got under way in the form of a grand march, which
toured the hall a couple of times and disintegrated into waltzing couples.
Ramon watched this proceeding and several other dances without feeling any
desire to take part. He was in a state of grand and gloomy discontent,
which was not wholly unpleasant, as is often the case with youthful
glooms. He even permitted himself to smile at some of the capers cut by
prominent citizens. But presently his gaze settled upon one couple with a
real sense of resentment and uneasiness. The couple consisted of his
uncle, Diego Delcasar, and the wife of James MacDougall,