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.
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