Virginia Page flushed vividly.  She had known all along that her mother had been a distant relative of Mrs. Engle, but she had had no desire, no thought of employing that very faint tie as an argument for being accepted by the banker’s family.  She did not care to come here like the proverbial poor relation.

“You are very kind,” she said quietly, her lips smiling while her eyes were grave.  “But I don’t want you to feel that I have been building on the fact of kinship; I just wanted to be friends if you liked me, not because you felt it your duty. . . .”

Engle, who had come, dragging his chair after him, to join them, laughed amusedly.

“Answering your question, Mrs. Engle,” he chuckled, “I’d certainly know her for Virginia Page!  When we come to know her better maybe she will allow us to call her Cousin Virginia?  In the meantime, to play safe, I suppose that to us she’d better be just Dr. Page?”

“John is as full of nonsense after banking hours,” explained Mrs. Engle, still affectionately patting Virginia’s hand, “as he is crammed with business from nine until four.  Which makes life with him possible; it’s like having two husbands, makes for variety and so saves me from flirting with other men.  Now, tell us all about yourself.”

Virginia, who had been a little stiff-muscled until now, leaned back among the cushions unconscious of a half sigh of content and of her relaxation.  During the long day San Juan had sought to frighten, to repel her.  Now it was making ample amends:  first the companionable society of Rod Norton, then this simple, hearty welcome.  She returned the pressure of Mrs. Engle’s soft, warm hands in sheer gratitude.

After that they chatted lightly, Engle gradually withdrawing from the conversation and secretly watching the girl keenly, studying her play of expression, seeking, according to his habit, to make his guarded estimate of a new factor in his household.  From Virginia’s face his eyes went swiftly now and then to his daughter’s, animated in her tete-a-tete with the sheriff.  Once, when Virginia turned unexpectedly, she caught the hint of a troubled frown in his eyes.

Broad double doors in the west wall of the living-room gave entrance to the patio.  The doors were open now to the slowly freshening night air, and from where she sat Virginia Page had a glimpse of a charming court, an orange-tree heavy with fruit and blossom, red and yellow roses, a sleeping fountain whose still water reflected star-shine and the lamp in its niche under a grape-vine arbor.  When Norton and Florence Engle strolled out into the inviting patio Engle, breaking his silence, leaned forward and dominated the conversation.

Virginia had been doing the major part of the talking, answering questions about Mrs. Engle’s girlhood home, telling something of herself.  Now John Engle, reminding his wife that their guest must be consumed with curiosity about her new environment, sought to interest her in this and that, in and about San Juan.