ir you have; I'll bet it comes down to your waist, doesn't it? You
ought to see mine when I take it down; it's like the pictures of the
bush-whackers . . . you know what I mean, from South Africa or
somewhere, you know . . . only, of course, mine's a prettier color.
Sometime I'll come and comb yours for you, when you're tired out from
curing sick Indians. But now," and she jumped to her feet, "I'll go
out on the porch while you get dressed and then you come out, will you?
It's cool there under the awning, and I'll have Mr. Struve bring us out
some cold lemonade. But first, you do forgive me, don't you?"

Virginia's prompt assurance was incomplete when Florrie flitted out,
banging the door after her, headed toward the lounging-chairs on the
veranda.

"You pretty thing!" exclaimed Miss Florrie as Virginia joined her as
coolly and femininely dressed, if not quite as fluffily, as the
banker's daughter. "Oh, but you are quite the most stunning creature
that ever came into San Juan! Oh, I know all about myself; don't you
suppose I've stood in front of a glass by the long hours . . . wishing
it was a wishing-glass all the time and that I could turn a pug-nose
into a Grecian. I'm pretty; you're simply beautiful!"

"Look here, my dear," laughed Virginia, taking the chair which Florrie
had drawn close up to her own in the shade against the adobe wall, "you
have already made amends. It isn't necessary to . . ."

"I haven't half finished," cried Florrie emphatically. "You see it's a
way of mine to do things just by halves and quit there. But to-day it
is different; to-day I am going to square myself. That's one reason
why I treated you so cattishly last night; because you were so
maddeningly good to look upon. Through a man's eyes, you know; and
that's about all that counts anyway, isn't it? And the other reason
was that you came in with Roddy and he looked so contented. . . . Do
you wonder that I am just wild about him? Isn't he a perfect dear?"

Florrie's utter frankness disconcerted Virginia. The confession of
"wildness" about San Juan's sheriff, followed by the asseveration of
his perfect dearness was made in bright frankness, Florrie's voice
lowered no whit though Julius Struve at the moment was coming down the
veranda bearing a tray and glasses. Virginia was not without gratitude
that Struve lingered a moment and bantered with Florrie; when he
departed she sought to switch the talk in another direction.