He had grown almost afraid of her, since the morning he had seen her from his window, sitting up so slender and fragile in Duran's flashing official landau as it swept out through the Palace gates surrounded by galloping and gorgeous cuirassiers with brazen breastplates and horsetail helmets. And the consciousness of this alienation brought a touch of bitterness into his voice as he went on.
"No; I don't believe you do know. This is the life you were born to. This is your home. It means everything to you!"
"Not everything," she corrected him, very quietly. He could not see her face, for she was gazing out over Paraiso Hill.
"But I know you would never be happy away from it, from everything here that has been making me feel so lost and miserable, any more than I would be happy away from the things that would make you feel lost and miserable."
She glanced up with a little look of surprise.
"I'm not a Locombian," she said, laughing a little.
It was his turn to laugh, though there was little mirth in it.
"No; but you are the sister of Dr. Arturo Boynton, Minister of War for the Republic of Locombia, Member of the Federal"
