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sala. The prosperous majordomo remained open-mouthed
at this late invasion.
‘Don’t put out the lights,’ commanded the doctor. ‘I want
to see the senora.’
‘The senora is in the Senor Adminstrador’s cancillaria,’
said Basilio, in an unctuous voice. ‘The Senor Administra-
dor starts for the mountain in an hour. There is some trouble
with the workmen to be feared, it appears. A shameless peo-
ple without reason and decency. And idle, senor. Idle.’
‘You are shamelessly lazy and imbecile yourself,’ said the
doctor, with that faculty for exasperation which made him
so generally beloved. ‘Don’t put the lights out.’
Basilio retired with dignity. Dr. Monygham, waiting in
the brilliantly lighted sala, heard presently a door close at
the further end of the house. A jingle of spurs died out. The
Senor Administrador was off to the mountain.
With a measured swish of her long train, flashing with
jewels and the shimmer of silk, her delicate head bowed as
if under the weight of a mass of fair hair, in which the sil-
ver threads were lost, the ‘first lady of Sulaco,’ as Captain
Mitchell used to describe her, moved along the lighted cor-
redor, wealthy beyond great dreams of wealth, considered,
loved, respected, honoured, and as solitary as any human
being had ever been, perhaps, on this earth.
The doctor’s ‘Mrs. Gould! One minute!’ stopped her with
a start at the door of the lighted and empty sala. From the
similarity of mood and circumstance, the sight of the doc-
tor, standing there all alone amongst the groups of furniture,
recalled to her emotional memory her unexpected meeting

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