XIX
When the Parkers emerged from the hacienda, they found Don Mike and Pablo
holding the horses and waiting for them. Kay wore a beautifully tailored
riding-habit of dark unfinished material, shot with a faint admixture of
gray; her boots were of shining black undressed leather, and she wore a
pair of little silver-mounted spurs, the sight of which caused Pablo to
exchange sage winks with his master. Her white-pique stock was fastened
by an exquisite little cameo stick-pin; from under the brim of a
black-beaver sailor-hat, set well down on her head, her wistful brown
eyes looked up at Don Mike, and caught the quick glance of approval with
which he appraised her, before turning to her mother.
"The black mare for you, Mrs. Parker," he suggested. "She's a regular
old sweetheart and single-foots beautifully. I think you'll find that
stock-saddle a far more comfortable seat than the saddle Miss Kay is
using."
"I know I'm not as light and graceful as I used to be, Mike," the amiable
soul assured him, "but it irks me to have men notice it. You _might_
have given me an opportunity to decline Kay's saddle. There is such a
thing as being too thoughtful, you know."
"Mother!" Kay cried reproachfully.
Don Mike blushed, even while he smiled his pleasure at the lady's
badinage. She observed this.
"You're a nice boy, Michael," she murmured, for his ear alone.
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