He nodded. "Ma Sepulvida is a lady of the old school," he continued.
"Very dignified, very proud of her distinguished descent--"

"And very fond of you," Kay interrupted.

"Always was, Kay. She's an old peach. Came to the hospital and cried
over me and wanted to loan me enough money to lift the mortgage on my
ranch."

"Then--then--your problem is--solved," Kay found difficulty in voicing
the sentence.

He nodded. She turned her face away that he might not see the pallor
that overspread it. "It is a very great comfort to me," he resumed
presently, "to realize that the world is not altogether barren of love
and kindness."

"It must be," she murmured, her face still averted.

"It was the dearest wish of my poor father and of Anita's that the
ancient friendship between the families should be cemented by a
marriage between Anita and me. For me Señora Sepulvida would be a
marvelous mother-in-law, because she's my kind of people and we
understand each other. Really, I feel tremendously complimented
because, even before the oil strike saved the family from financial
ruin, Anita did not lack opportunities for many a more brilliant match."

"She's--dazzling," Kay murmured drearily. "What a brilliant wife she
will be for you!"