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A slight cough broke from Aunt Viney. She had heard enough–she did not wish to hear more. The mystery was explained. Dick loved Cecily; the coyness or hesitation was not on HIS part. Some idiotic girlish caprice, quite inconsistent with what she had noticed at the mission church, was keeping Cecily silent, reserved, and exasperating to her lover. She would have a talk with the young lady, without revealing the fact that she had overheard them. She was perhaps a little hurt that affairs should have reached this point without some show of confidence to her from the young people. Dick might naturally be reticent–but Cecily!

She did not even look towards the pear-tree, but turned and walked stiffly out of the gate. As she was crossing the lane she suddenly started back in utter dismay and consternation! For Cecily, her niece,–in her own proper person,–was actually just coming OUT OF THE HOUSE!

Aunt Viney caught her wrist. “Where have you been?” she asked quickly.

“In the house,” stammered Cecily, with a frightened face.

“You have not been in the garden with Dick?” continued Aunt Viney sharply–yet with a hopeless sense of the impossibility of the suggestion.

“No, I was not even going there. I thought of just strolling down the lane.”

The girl’s accents were truthful; more than that, she absolutely looked relieved by her aunt’s question. “Do you want me, Aunty?” she added quickly.

“Yes–no. Run away, then–but don’t go far.”

At any other time Aunt Viney might have wondered at the eagerness with which Cecily tripped away; now she was only anxious to get rid of her. She entered the casa hurriedly.

“Send Josefa to me at once,” she said to Manuel.

Josefa, the housekeeper,–a fat Mexican woman,–appeared. “Send Concha and the other maids here.” They appeared, mutely wondering. Aunt Viney glanced hurriedly over them–they were all there–a few comely, but not too attractive, and all stupidly complacent. “Have you girls any friends here this evening–or are you expecting any?” she demanded. Of a surety, no!–as the padrona knew–it was not night for church. “Very well,” returned Aunt Viney; “I thought I heard your voices in the garden; understand, I want no gallivanting there. Go to bed.”

She was relieved! Dick certainly was not guilty of a low intrigue with one of the maids. But who and what was she?

Dick was absent again from chocolate; there was unfinished work to do. Cecily came in later, just as Aunt Viney was beginning to be anxious. Had she appeared distressed or piqued by her cousin’s conduct, Aunt Viney might have spoken; but there was a pretty color on her cheek–the result, she said, of her rapid walking, and the fresh air; did Aunt Viney know that a cool breeze had just risen?–and her delicate lips were wreathed at times in a faint retrospective smile. Aunt Viney stared; certainly the girl was not pining! What young people were made of now-a-days she really couldn’t conceive. She shrugged her shoulders and resumed her tatting.

Nevertheless, as Dick’s unfinished studies seemed to have whitened his cheek and impaired his appetite the next morning, she announced her intention of driving out towards the mission alone. When she returned at luncheon she further astonished the young people by casually informing them they would have Spanish visitors to dinner–namely, their neighbors, Donna Maria Amador and the Dona Felipa Peralta.

Both faces were turned eagerly towards her; both said almost in the same breath, “But, Aunt Viney! you don’t know them! However did you–What does it all mean?”

“My dears,” said Aunt Viney placidly, “Mrs. Amador and I have always nodded to each other, and I knew they were only waiting for the slightest encouragement. I gave it, and they’re coming.”

It was difficult to say whether Cecily’s or Dick’s face betrayed the greater delight and animation. Aunt Viney looked from the one to the other. It seemed as if her attempt at diversion had been successful.

“Tell us all about it, you dear, clever, artful Aunty!” said Cecily gayly.