up his card. Kate, feeling sore, received him unwillingly.
“I came,” he said, with a little stiff dignity, like an ambassador on a mission, “to tell you that I, too, don’t like those caricatures. I, too, don’t like them. I don’t like the young people, boys and girls, no?—to be seeing them all the time. I, too, don’t like. But I think, also, that here in Mexico, we can’t help it. People are very bad, very greedy, no?—they only want to get money here, and they don’t care. So we must hate them. Yes, we must. But I, too, I don’t like it.”
He held his hat in his two hands, and twisted his shoulders in a conflict of feelings.
Kate suddenly laughed, and he laughed too, with a certain pain and confusion in his laughter.
“That’s awfully nice of you to come and say so,” she said, warming to him.
“No, not