“What are you staring at, girl?” asked the Señora, so sharply that Margarita jumped.
“Oh, nothing, nothing, Señora! And the Señorita, will she come to supper? Shall I call her?” she said.
The Señora eyed her. Had she seen? Could she have seen? The Señora Moreno was herself again. So long as Ramona was under her roof, no matter what she herself might do or say to the girl, no servant should treat her with disrespect, or know that aught was wrong.
“The Señorita is not well,” she said coldly. “She is in her room. I myself will take her some supper later, if she wishes it. Do not disturb her.” And the Señora returned to Felipe.
Margarita chuckled inwardly, and proceeded to clear the table she had spread with such malicious punctuality two short hours before. In those two short hours how much had happened!
“Small appetite for supper will our Señorita have, I reckon,” said the bitter Margarita, “and the Señor Alessandro also! I'm curious to see how he will carry himself.”
But her curiosity was not gratified. Alessandro came not to the kitchen. The last of the herdsmen had eaten and gone; it was past nine o'clock, and no Alessandro. Slyly Margarita ran out and searched in some of the places where she knew he was in the habit of going; but Alessandro was not to be found. Once she brushed so near his hiding-place that he thought he was discovered, and was on the point of speaking, but luckily held his peace, and she passed on. Alessandro was hid behind the geranium clump at the chapel door; sitting on the ground, with his knees drawn up to his chin, watching Ramona's window. He intended to stay there all night. He felt that he might be needed: if Ramona wanted
