"You are lovely that way," said Agueda. "What does he do to you, Señorita?--the Señor Escobeda. Does he starve you? Does he ill treat--I could tell the Señor Don Beltran--"
"You do not blush when you speak of him," said Raquel, who had heard some rumours.
"I have no cause to blush," said Agueda, with dignity. "But come, Señorita, the note!"
Raquel withdrew into the room. She scribbled a few words on a piece of blue paper, folded it, and encased it in a long thin envelope. This she sealed with a little pink wafer, on which were two turtle doves with their bills quite close together. She leaned out and handed the missive down to Agueda.
"Thank you, dear," she said. "I should like to kiss you."
"I should like much to have you," said Agueda. "Perhaps I can stand up." Agueda spurred her horse closer under the window. She raised herself as high as she could. The chestnut started.
"He will throw you," said Raquel. "I will lean out."
Raquel stretched her young form as far out of the window as possible. She could just reach Agueda's forehead. She kissed her gently.
"I thank you, Señorita," said Agueda. She felt the kiss upon her forehead all the way to the plantation; it seemed like a benediction. She did not reason out the cause of her feeling, but it was true that no one of Raquel's class had ever kissed her before.
Agueda rode along her way with quick gait. The plantation of Palmacristi was some miles farther on, and she wished still to see Aneta. On her way toward Palmacristi, and as she mounted the slope leading to the casa, she met no one. Arrived at that splendid estate by the sea, she spurred her horse over the hill and round to the counting-house. This was the place, she had heard, where the Señor was usually to be found. She had seen the Señor at a distance. She thought that she would know him.
At that same hour the Señor Don Gil Silencio-y-Estrada sat within his counting-house. The counting-house was constructed of the boards of the palm, the inner side plain, the outer side curved, as the tree had curved. The bark had not been removed. The roof of the building was also made of palm boards; it was thickly thatched with yagua.
Since the days of the old Don Gil the finca had enlarged and improved. The counting-house stood within its small enclosure, its back against the side of the casa, and though it communicated with the interior of the imposing mahogany mansion, it remained the same palm-board counting-house--that is, to the outside world--that the estate of Palmacristi had ever known.