Teresita failed to see how the wistfulness was quite submerging the
twinkle in Mrs. Jerry's eyes, and if she had seen, she would never have
guessed what put it there; nor would she have understood why Mrs. Jerry
might shrink from attending that magnificent festival, perhaps the only
gringo woman in all the crowd, and a pitifully shabby gringo woman at
that. To her mind, Mrs. Jerry was beautiful and perfect, even in her
shapeless brown dress that was always clean. Teresita herself would
never have worn that dress at all, yet it did not occur to her that Mrs.
Jerry might have some very feminine quality of pride crowded down into
some corner of her sweet nature. So Teresita was mightily offended at
what she considered a slight from the only gringo woman she had ever
known; and she was also bitterly disappointed over the abandonment of
the new coiffure.
"Why don't you wear it just the way it is, honey?" Mrs. Jerry had
suggested--and very sensibly, too. "I wouldn't go and twist it all up
and stick pins through it, if I was you. It's prettier just that way."
Teresita had understood enough of that, thanks to the teachings of her
blue-eyed one, to know that the pretty senora did not mean to keep her
promise. She had gone almost immediately to the cabin door to tell Jack
that she was ready to go home. And Jack, deep in one of those
interminable conversations with Jerry himself, over on the pile of logs
that would one day be a stable if Jerry's hopes reached fruition, had
merely waved his hand carelessly when he saw her, and had given all his
attention to Jerry again.
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