"
Both Farrel and her father favored her with brief, sharp, suspicious
glances. "Who was telling you?" the latter demanded.
"Senor Bill Conway."
"He ought to know better than to discuss the Japanese problem with
you," Farrel complained, and her father nodded vigorous assent. Kay
tilted her adorable nose at them.
"How delightful to have one's intelligence underrated by mere men," she
retorted.
"Did Bill Conway indicate the direction of the tide of emigration from
La Questa?" Farrel asked craftily, still unwilling to admit anything.
The girl smiled at him, then leaning closer she crooned for his ear
alone:
He's sleeping in the valley,
The valley,
The valley,
He's sleeping in the valley,
And the mocking bird is singing where he lies.
"Are you glad?" he blurted eagerly. She nodded and thrilled as she
noted the smug little smile of approval and complete understanding that
crept over his dark face like the shadow of clouds in the San Gregorio.
Mrs. Parker was riding in the front seat with the chauffeur and Kay sat
between her father and Don Mike in the tonneau. His hand dropped
carelessly on her lap now, as he made a pretense of pulling the auto
robe up around her; with quick stealth he caught her little finger and
pressed it hurriedly, then dropped it as if the contact had burned him;
whereat the girl realized that he was a man of few words, but--
"Dear old idiot," she thought.
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