But this frank questioning on so sacred a topic was a little more than the young lady was prepared to meet, and for the moment confusion held her tongue-tied.

“One’s people attend to that, of course,” she managed to say, at length, then changed the subject quickly.

“Do you live in Panama?” she asked.

“Yes.  I work on the railroad, or will, in a few days.”

“You are so young for such authority.  It must be very difficult to manage railroads.”

“Well—­I won’t have to run the whole works—­at first.  I’m beginning gradually, you know—­one train at a time.”

“That will be easier, of course.  What did you say is your whole name?”

“Kirk Anthony.”

“Keerk!  It has a fonny sound, has it not?”

“I never noticed it.  And yours?”

“Do you speak Spanish?” She regarded him curiously.

“Not a word.”

“My name is Chiquita.”

He repeated it after her.  “It’s pretty.  What is your last name?”

“That is it.  If I told you my first name, you could not use it; it would not be proper.”

“It ought to be something like Ariel.  That means ’spirit of the air and water,’ I believe.  Ariel Chiquita.  No, they don’t go together.  What are you laughing at?”

“To see you scratch your neck.”

Anthony became conscious of a growing sensation where the strange pod had dangled against his skin, and realized that he had been rubbing the spot for some time.

“You did not know it was the cow-nettle, eh?”

“You enjoy seeing me suffer,” he said, patiently.

“You do not soffer,” she retorted, mimicking his tone.  “You only eetch!  You wish me to sympathize.”

“See here, Miss Chiquita, may I call on you?”

“Oh!” She lifted her brows in amazement.  “Such ideas!  Of a certainly not.”

“Why?”

“You do not onderstand.  Our young men do not do those things.”

“Then I’ll do whatever is customary—­really I will, but—­I’m awfully anxious to see you again—­and—­’

“I do not know you—­My father—­”

“I’ll look up Mr. Chiquita and be introduced.”

At this the young lady began to rock back and forth in an abandon of merriment.  The idea, it seemed, was too utterly ridiculous for words.  Her silvery laughter filled the glade and caused the jealous waterfall to cease its music.

“No, no,” she said, finally.  “It is impossible.  Besides, I am doing penance.  I can see no one.  In the city I cannot even sit upon the balcony.”  She fetched a palpably counterfeit sigh, which ended in a titter.

Never had Kirk beheld such a quaintly mischievous, such a madly tantalizing creature.

“Say!  You’re not really going to marry that fellow!” he exclaimed, with considerable fervor.

She shrugged her shoulders wearily.  “I suppose so.  One cannot forever say no, and there are many reasons—­”