were well feasted at the Moreno's,—that's one comfort. I wonder if Margarita'll think I am worthy of tasting that stew! San José! but it smells well! Margarita! Margarita!” he called at top of his lungs; but Margarita did not hear. She was absorbed in her duties in the kitchen; and having already taken Juan at sundown a bowl of the good broth which the doctor had said was the only sort of food he must eat for two weeks, she had dismissed him from her mind for the night. Moreover, Margarita was absent-minded to-night. She was more than half in love with the handsome Alessandro, who, when he had been on the ranch the year before, had danced with her, and said many a light pleasant word to her, evenings, as a young man may; and what ailed him now, that he seemed, when he saw her, as if she were no more than a transparent shade, through which he stared at the sky behind her, she did not know. Señor Felipe's illness, she thought, and the general misery and confusion, had perhaps put everything else out of his head; but now he was going to stay, and it would be good fun having him there, if only Señor Felipe got well, which he seemed likely to do. And as Margarita flew about, here, there, and everywhere, she cast frequent glances at the tall straight figure pacing up and down in the dusk outside.
Alessandro did not see her. He did not see anything. He was looking off at the sunset, and listening. Ramona had said, “I will call you when we are ready.” But she did not do as she said. She told Margarita to call.
“Run, Margarita,” she said. “All is ready now; see if Alessandro is in sight. Call him to come and take the things.”
So it was Margarita's voice, and not Ramona's, that called “Alessandro! Alessandro! the supper is ready.”
