I think he slept badly last night on your account." Wistfulness was in Dade's eyes when he looked at her; as though he wanted to ask if she also were relieved at seeing him.

But there was the man behind the lattice where the vines were thickest; the man who was young and whom she had found a pleasant companion.

Also there was Jack, who was staring with perfect frankness, his eyes a full shade darker as he looked at her.

And there was the peon scampering barefooted across from one of the huts to take their horses.

Dade therefore confined himself to conventional phrases.
"Senorita, let me present to you my friend, Jack Allen," he said.
"Jack, this is the Senorita Teresa Picardo." His nostrils widened again when he looked casually at Jack; for Jack's sombrero was swept down to his knees in salute--though it was not that; it was the look in his face that sent Dade's glance seeking Teresita's eyes for answer.
But Teresita only showed him how effectively black lashes contrast with the faint flush of cheeks just hinting at dimples, and he got no answer there.
She made another little courtesy, lifting her lashes unexpectedly for a swift glance at Jack, as he dismounted hastily and went up two steps, his hand outstretched to her.
"We Americanos like to shake hands upon a new friendship," he said boldly.
The senorita laughed a little, changed her embroidery hoop from her right hand to her left, laid her fingers in his palm, blushed when his hand closed upon them eagerly, and laughed again when her gold thimble slipped and rolled tinkling down the steps.
Dade picked the thimble out of a matted corner of a violet bed, and returned it to her unsmilingly; got a flash of her eyes and a little nod for his reward, and stood back, waiting her further pleasure.
"You have had adventures, Senor, since yesterday morning," she said to him lightly.