Whitney was a study.  I wondered what could be the relations between these two, the frankly voluptuous woman and the calculating full-blooded man.  Whitney, for his part, seemed almost fascinated by her gaze.  He rose as she bowed, and, for a moment, I thought that he was going over to speak to her, as if drawn by that intangible attraction which Poe has so cleverly expressed in his “Imp of the Perverse.”  For, clearly, one who talked as Whitney had just been talking would have to be on his guard with that woman.  Instead, however, he returned her nod and stood still, while Kennedy bowed at a distance and signalled to her that we would be in the tea room directly.

I glanced up in time to see the anxious look on the face of Inez change momentarily into a flash of hatred toward the Senora.

At the same moment Alfonso, who was on the other side of his mother, turned from looking at a newsstand which had attracted his attention and caught sight of us.  There was no mistaking the ardent glance which he directed at the fair Peruvian at my side.  I fancied, too, that her face softened a bit.  It was only for a moment, and then Inez resumed her normal composure.

“I won’t detain you any longer,” remarked Whitney.  “Somehow, when I start to talk about my—­our plans down there at Truxillo I could go on all night.  It is marvellous, marvellous.  We haven’t any idea of what the future holds in store.  No one else in all this big city has anything like the prospect which is before us.  Gradually we are getting everything into shape.  When we are ready to go ahead, it will be the sensation of Wall Street—­and, believe me, it takes much to arouse the Street.”

He may have been talking wildly, but it was worth while to listen to him.  For, whatever else he was, Whitney was one of the most persuasive promoters of the day.  More than that, I could well imagine how any one possessed of an imagination susceptible to the influence of mystery and tradition would succumb to the glittering charm of the magic words, peje chica, and feel all the gold-hunter’s enthusiasm when Whitney brought him into the atmosphere of the peje grande.  As he talked, visions of hidden treasure seemed to throw a glamour over everything.  One saw golden.

“You will excuse us?” apologized Kennedy, taking Inez by the arm.  “If you are about, Mr. Whitney, I shall stop to chat with you again on the way out.”

“Remember—­she is a very remarkable woman,” said Whitney, as we left him and started for the tea room.

His tone was not exactly one of warning, yet it seemed to have cost him an effort to say it.  I could not reconcile it with any other idea than that he was trying to use her in his own plans, but was still in doubt of the outcome.

We parted from him and entered the darkened tea room, with its wicker tables and chairs, and soft lights, glowing pinkly, to simulate night in the broad light of afternoon outside.  A fountain splashed soothingly in the centre.  Everything was done to lend to the place an exotic air of romance.