have the children at the Castillo whenever you feel the need for relaxation. I suggest you should feel that need on Saturday, when I am taking a party into the country.”
“It’s very kind of you, senor,” she answered with reserve.
A hint of satire in his voice, he said, “And you accept with joy. Bueno, let us talk of something else. You know that there is motor racing next week along the coast of the Bahia de Manca?”
“Yes. Old Pablo, the gardener here, was telling me about it.”
“Did you also know that Mario Perez has entered a new racing car?”
She looked at him swiftly. “But I thought all the drivers were professionals! Isn’t it very dangerous for anyone who’s inexperienced?”
A shrug. “Mario has driven in such races before, but never in this one, which is extremely trying. However, we shall see.”
“But can’t you dissuade him?” she asked, disturbed. “He may have raced before, but I don’t believe he’s the true type for it. Can’t his parents stop him?”
“Miss Darrell,” he said with deliberation, “when a man finds it necessary to prove his manhood in some demonstrative fashion it is both unwise and unkind to stop him.” He paused. “It is a strange thing about Mario. Quite suddenly he is tremendously alive and must taste everything. You are an astounding young woman.”
“It hasn’t anything to do with me, as a person,” she retorted. “Perhaps to someone shy I seemed more understanding than the sloe-eyed senoritas who expect him to be an expert...” she stopped suddenly.
“What were you about to say?” he asked softly, with a penetrating stare. “An expert lover?”
“Yes, I was, as a matter of fact,” she returned casually. “Not that he made love to me. But he did realize that I knew about as much on the subject as he did, so he didn’t have to be on guard!”
“You must have had many happy moments together!”
“The strange part of it is that I hardly know him. He’s trying to prove things to himself, not to me.”
“That is a wise conclusion,” said Ramiro. “It is exactly what he is doing. This motor racing is not for you, but for himself and for everyone who has known him all his life, for all those who have perhaps hinted that he is an exemplary young man but without much ... what is your word ... pep.” A smile, and an alien lift of the shoulders. “Now we have agreed upon that there is no need to discuss Mario further.”
As it happened, there was no need to discuss anything just then. The children came in, and they were hardly in the room when Luisa appeared at the door. The servant saw the Conde, curtseyed in much confusion and was about to withdraw when Tony caught her hand.
“Did you want me, Luisa?” asked Juliet.
“It is nothing senorita. Nothing urgent.”
“Well, is lunch ready?” demanded Tony. “I could eat a big fat dog.”
“That is esqueroso ... nasty!” Luisa was forced to tell him severely. “You will have no such thing.”
“I should give him the big fat dog for his lunch,” said Ramiro gravely. “It would certainly cure him of such tastes.”
Tony laughed. “I really want a pork pasta and peas,” he said. “Will you stay to lunch with us, Don Ramiro?”
Luisa went pale. “I have not prepared for the Senor Conde. There is only the cooked chicken and ham with salad. It is not fit...”
“As if one did not know,” interrupted Ramiro with a charming smile, “that chicken and ham cooked by the good Luisa is the best in San Federigo!” He slanted a faintly mocking glance at Juliet. “If the senorita will permit, I shall be most happy to accept your invitation, Tonio.”
Luisa loosed herself from the child, curtseyed again, frantically, and rushed back to the kitchen. Juliet sat still, while the children, too young and uninhibited to be awed scuffed out to wash their hands.
“You are not very cordial, Miss Darrell,” said Ramiro evenly.
“I’m sorry. I feel a little like Luisa—that I’d
“It’s very kind of you, senor,” she answered with reserve.
A hint of satire in his voice, he said, “And you accept with joy. Bueno, let us talk of something else. You know that there is motor racing next week along the coast of the Bahia de Manca?”
“Yes. Old Pablo, the gardener here, was telling me about it.”
“Did you also know that Mario Perez has entered a new racing car?”
She looked at him swiftly. “But I thought all the drivers were professionals! Isn’t it very dangerous for anyone who’s inexperienced?”
A shrug. “Mario has driven in such races before, but never in this one, which is extremely trying. However, we shall see.”
“But can’t you dissuade him?” she asked, disturbed. “He may have raced before, but I don’t believe he’s the true type for it. Can’t his parents stop him?”
“Miss Darrell,” he said with deliberation, “when a man finds it necessary to prove his manhood in some demonstrative fashion it is both unwise and unkind to stop him.” He paused. “It is a strange thing about Mario. Quite suddenly he is tremendously alive and must taste everything. You are an astounding young woman.”
“It hasn’t anything to do with me, as a person,” she retorted. “Perhaps to someone shy I seemed more understanding than the sloe-eyed senoritas who expect him to be an expert...” she stopped suddenly.
“What were you about to say?” he asked softly, with a penetrating stare. “An expert lover?”
“Yes, I was, as a matter of fact,” she returned casually. “Not that he made love to me. But he did realize that I knew about as much on the subject as he did, so he didn’t have to be on guard!”
“You must have had many happy moments together!”
“The strange part of it is that I hardly know him. He’s trying to prove things to himself, not to me.”
“That is a wise conclusion,” said Ramiro. “It is exactly what he is doing. This motor racing is not for you, but for himself and for everyone who has known him all his life, for all those who have perhaps hinted that he is an exemplary young man but without much ... what is your word ... pep.” A smile, and an alien lift of the shoulders. “Now we have agreed upon that there is no need to discuss Mario further.”
As it happened, there was no need to discuss anything just then. The children came in, and they were hardly in the room when Luisa appeared at the door. The servant saw the Conde, curtseyed in much confusion and was about to withdraw when Tony caught her hand.
“Did you want me, Luisa?” asked Juliet.
“It is nothing senorita. Nothing urgent.”
“Well, is lunch ready?” demanded Tony. “I could eat a big fat dog.”
“That is esqueroso ... nasty!” Luisa was forced to tell him severely. “You will have no such thing.”
“I should give him the big fat dog for his lunch,” said Ramiro gravely. “It would certainly cure him of such tastes.”
Tony laughed. “I really want a pork pasta and peas,” he said. “Will you stay to lunch with us, Don Ramiro?”
Luisa went pale. “I have not prepared for the Senor Conde. There is only the cooked chicken and ham with salad. It is not fit...”
“As if one did not know,” interrupted Ramiro with a charming smile, “that chicken and ham cooked by the good Luisa is the best in San Federigo!” He slanted a faintly mocking glance at Juliet. “If the senorita will permit, I shall be most happy to accept your invitation, Tonio.”
Luisa loosed herself from the child, curtseyed again, frantically, and rushed back to the kitchen. Juliet sat still, while the children, too young and uninhibited to be awed scuffed out to wash their hands.
“You are not very cordial, Miss Darrell,” said Ramiro evenly.
“I’m sorry. I feel a little like Luisa—that I’d
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