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and lined with red baize, were arranged firearms: Winchester carbines,
revolvers, a couple of shot-guns, and even two pairs of double-barrelled
holster pistols. Between them, by itself, upon a strip of scarlet
velvet, hung an old cavalry sabre, once the property of Don Enrique
Gould, the hero of the Occidental Province, presented by Don Jose
Avellanos, the hereditary friend of the family.

Otherwise, the plastered white walls were completely bare, except for
a water-colour sketch of the San Tome mountain--the work of Dona Emilia
herself. In the middle of the red-tiled floor stood two long tables
littered with plans and papers, a few chairs, and a glass show-case
containing specimens of ore from the mine. Mrs. Gould, looking at all
these things in turn, wondered aloud why the talk of these wealthy and
enterprising men discussing the prospects, the working, and the safety
of the mine rendered her so impatient and uneasy, whereas she could talk
of the mine by the hour with her husband with unwearied interest and
satisfaction. And dropping her eyelids expressively, she added--

"What do you feel about it, Charley?"

Then, surprised at her husband's silence, she raised her eyes, opened
wide, as pretty as pale flowers. He had done with the spurs, and,
twisting his moustache with both hands, horizontally, he contemplated
her from the height of his long legs with a visible appreciation of her
appearance. The consciousness of being thus contemplated pleased Mrs.
Gould.

"They are considerable men," he said.

"I know. But have you listened to their conversation? They don't seem to
have understood anything they have seen here."

"They have seen the mine. They have understood that to some purpose,"
Charles Gould interjected, in defence of the visitors; and then his
wife mentioned the name of the most considerable of the three. He was
considerable in finance and in industry. His name was familiar to many
millions of people. He was so considerable that he would never have
travelled so far away from the centre of his activity if the doctors had
not insisted, with veiled menaces, on his taking a long holiday.

"Mr. Holroyd's sense of religion," Mrs. Gould pursued, "was shocked
and disgusted at the tawdriness of the dressed-up saints in the
cathedral--the worship, he called it, of wood and tinsel. But it seemed
to me that he looked upon his own God as a sort of influential partner,
who gets his share of profits in the endowment of churches. That's a
sort of idolatry. He told me he endowed churches every year, Charley."

"No end of them," said Mr. Gould, marvelling inwardly at the mobility
of her physiognomy. "All over the country. He's famous for that sort of
munificence." "Oh, he didn't boast," Mrs. Gould declared, scrupulously.
"I believe he's really a good man, but so stupid! A poor Chulo who
offers a little silver arm or leg to thank his god for a cure is as
rational and more touching."

"He's at the head of immense silver and iron interests," Charles Gould

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