He held down his head as if he were painfully oppressed by the sense of his crimes and responsibilities as a descendant of the waster of aboriginal New Mexico.  Mrs. Stanley, delighted with his emotion, slily grasped and pressed his hand.

“Oh, man! man!” she groaned.  “What evils has that creature man wrought in this beautiful world!  Ah, Mr. Coronado, it would have been a very different planet had woman had her rightful share in the management of its affairs.”

“Undoubtedly,” sighed Coronado.  He had already obtained an insight into this remarkable person’s views on the woman question, the superiority of her own sex, the stolidity and infamy of the other.  It was worth his while to humor her on this point, for the sake of gaining an influence over her, and so over Clara.  Cheered by the success of his history, he now launched into pure poetry.

“Woman has done something,” he said.  “There is every reason to believe that the cities of the San Juan were ruled by queens, and that some of them were inhabited by a race of Amazons.”

“Is it possible?” exclaimed Aunt Maria, flushing and rustling with interest.

“It is the opinion of the best antiquarians.  It is my opinion.  Nothing else can account for the exquisite earthenware which is found there.  Women, you are aware, far surpass men in the arts of beauty.  Moreover, the inscriptions on hieroglyphic rocks in these abandoned cities evidently refer to Amazons.  There you see them doing the work of men—­carrying on war, ruling conquered regions, founding cities.  It is a picture of a golden age, Mrs. Stanley.”

Aunt Maria meant to go by way of the San Juan, if she had to scalp Apaches herself in doing it.

“Lieutenant Thurstane, what do you say?” she asked, turning her sparkling eyes upon the officer.

“I must confess that I never heard of all these things,” replied Thurstane, with an air which added, “And I don’t believe in most of them.”

“As for the San Juan route,” he continued, “it is two hundred miles at least out of our way.  The country is a desert and almost unexplored.  I don’t fancy the plan—­I beg your pardon, Mr. Coronado—­but I don’t fancy it at all.”

Aunt Maria despised him and almost hated him for his stupid, practical, unpoetic common sense.

“I must say that I quite fancy the San Juan route,” she responded, with proper firmness.

“I venture to agree with you,” said Coronado, as meekly as if her fancy were not of his own making.  “Only a hundred miles off the straight line (begging your pardon, my dear Lieutenant), and through a country which is naturally fertile—­witness the immense population which it once supported.  As for its being unexplored, I have explored it myself; and I shall go with you.”

“Shall you!” cried Aunt Maria, as if that made all safe and delightful.

“Yes.  My excellent Uncle Garcia (good, kind-hearted old man) takes the strongest interest in this affair.  He is resolved that his charming little relative here, La Senorita Clara, shall cross the continent in safety and comfort.  He offers a special wagon train for the purpose, and insists that I shall accompany it.  Of course I am only too delighted to obey him.”