Antonia had disappeared. They were quite alone.
"You are Doctor Robert Worth, sir?"
Their eyes met, their souls knew each other.
"And you are Sam Houston?"
The questions were answered in a hand grip, a sympathetic
smile on both faces--the freemasonry of kindred spirits.
"I have a letter from your son Thomas, doctor, and I think,
also, that you will have something to say to me, and I to
you."
The most prudent of patriots could not have resisted this man.
He had that true imperial look which all born rulers of men
possess--that look that half coerces, and wholly persuades.
Robert Worth acknowledged its power by his instant and
decisive answer.
"I have, indeed, much to say to you. We shall have dinner
directly, then you will give the night to me?"
After a short conversation he led him into the sala and
introduced him to Antonia. He himself had to prepare the
Senora for her visitor, and he had a little quaking of the
heart as he entered her room. She was dressed for dinner, and
turned with a laughing face to meet him.
"I have been listening to the cooks quarrelling over the olla,
Roberto. But what can my poor Manuel say when your Irishwoman
attacks him. Listen to her! `Take your dirty stew aff
the fire then! Shure it isn't fit for a Christian to ate at
all!'"
"I hope it is, Maria, for we have a visitor to-night.
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