Chapter 7

           “MRS.GOULDwastoointelligentlysympatheticnottosharethatfeeling.Itmadelifeexciting,andshewastoomuchofawomannottolikeexcitement.Butitfrightenedher,too,alittle;andwhenDonJoseAvellanos,rockingintheAmericanchair,wouldgosofarastosay,“Even,mydearCarlos,ifyouhadfailed;evenifsomeuntowardeventwereyettodestroyyourwork—whichGodforbid!—youwouldhavedeservedwellofyourcountry,”Mrs.Gouldwouldlookupfromthetea-tableprofoundlyatherunmovedhusbandstirringthespooninthecupasthoughhehadnotheardaword.

           NotthatDonJoseanticipatedanythingofthesort.HecouldnotpraiseenoughdearCarlos’stactandcourage.HisEnglish,rock-likequalityofcharacterwashisbestsafeguard,DonJoseaffirmed;and,turningtoMrs.Gould,“Astoyou,Emilia,mysoul”—hewouldaddressherwiththefamiliarityofhisageandoldfriendship—“youareastrueapatriotasthoughyouhadbeenborninourmidst.”

           Thismighthavebeenlessormorethanthetruth.Mrs.Gould,accompanyingherhusbandallovertheprovinceinthesearchforlabour,hadseenthelandwithadeeperglancethanatruebornCostaguaneracouldhavedone.Inhertravel-wornridinghabit,herfacepowderedwhitelikeaplastercast,withafurtherprotectionofasmallsilkmaskduringtheheatoftheday,sherodeonawell-shaped,light-footedponyinthecentreofalittlecavalcade.