"Those boy, he don' have some sweethearts, mees lady. He's pretty
parteecular." He paused a moment and looked her in the face meaningly.
"Those girls in thees country--pah! Hee's pretty parteecular, those
boy."
His childish arrogance and consuming pride in his master stirred the
girl's sense of humor.
"I think your Don Mike is _too_ particular," she whispered.
"Personally, I wouldn't marry him on a bet."
His slightly bloodshot eyes flickered with rage. "You never get a
chance," he assured her. "Those boy is of the _gente_. An' we don'
call heem 'Don Mike' now. Before, yes; but now he is 'Don Miguel,'
like hees father. Same, too, like hees gran'father."
Throughout this colloquy, Carolina had been busy exculpating herself
from possible blame due to her failure to have prepared for the
prodigal the sort of food she knew he preferred.
Farrel had quite a task pacifying her. At length he succeeded in
gently dismissing both servants, and followed Kay toward the patio.
The girl entered first, and discovered that her family and their guest
were not on the veranda, whereat she turned and gave her hand to Farrel.
"The butler will bring you some dinner to your room. We breakfast at
eight-thirty. Good-night."
"Thank you," he replied. "I shall be deeper in your debt if you will
explain to your father and mother my apparent lack of courtesy in
failing to call upon them this evening.
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