IV.
At luncheon, Cousin Cora looked at him closely.
“What’s the trouble?” she inquired. “Did something go wrong at the beach this morning?”
“Why, no,” he exclaimed in simulated astonishment. “What made you think that?”
“You have such a funny look. I thought perhaps you’d had some trouble with the little Garneau girl.”
He hated her.
“No, not at all.”
“You don’t want to get any idea in your head about her,” said Cousin Cora.
“What do you mean?” He knew with a start what she meant.
“Any ideas about Noel Garneau. You’ve got your own way to make.” Juan’s face burned. He was unable to answer. “I say that in all kindness. You’re not in any position to think anything serious about Noel Garneau.”
Her implications cut deeper than her words. Oh, he had seen well enough that he was not essen
