“I will,” said Kirk, feeling more concern than he cared to show, but his apprehension turned out to be quite unfounded.  On inspection, Clifford proved to bear no resemblance whatever to Williams, nor did he seem to have any concealed design.  He was a good sort, apparently, with a knack of making himself agreeable, and in the weeks that followed he and Kirk became quite friendly.  Meanwhile, no word had come from Senor Garavel, and Kirk was beginning to fret.  But just as he had reached the limit of his patience he received a note which transported him with joy.

Senor Andres Garavel, he read, would be in the city on the following Tuesday evening, and would be pleased to have him call.

Even with his recent experiences of Spanish etiquette, Kirk hardly realized the extent of the concession that had been made to him.  He knew nothing of the tears, the pleadings, and the spirited championship of his cause that had overborne the last parental objection.  It was lucky for him that Chiquita was a spoiled child, and Garavel a very Americanized Spaniard.  However, as it was, he went nearly mad with delight, and when Tuesday came round he performed his office-work so badly that Runnels took him to task.

“What the devil has got into you the last few days?” he exclaimed, irritably.

“I’m going to see a certain party to-night and I can’t contain myself.  I’m about to blow up.  That’s all.”

“Woman, eh?”

Kirk grinned.  “It has taken months, and I’d begun to think I wasn’t wanted.  Oh, I’ve had a battle.”

“Anybody I know?”

“Yes, but I can’t talk about her.  There’s a man in the case, see!  I’m going slow to start with.”

Runnels, who had never seen Kirk with any woman except Edith Cortlandt, formed his own conclusions, helped a bit, perhaps, by the memory of that conversation with John Weeks on the day of their ride across the Isthmus.  That these conclusions were not pleasing to him, he showed when he returned to his office.  He stood an instant in thought, looking rather stern, then murmured, half aloud:  “That’s one thing I wouldn’t stand for.”

Kirk had hard work to refrain from shaving himself twice that evening, so overcareful was he about his toilet, yet his excitement was as nothing compared to that of Allan, who looked on with admiration tempered by anxious criticism.  The boy, it seemed, appropriated to himself the entire credit for the happy ending of this affair.

“It will be a grand wedding, sar,” he exclaimed.  “H’Allan will be there for giving you away.”

“You don’t know enough about me to give me away,” Kirk returned, lightly.

“I shall be needing some h’expensive garments for the ceremony.  I would h’ahsk you to be so kind—­”

“Not too fast.  It hasn’t gone quite that far yet.”

“But I shall need to have those garments made by a tailor, and that will require time.  They will be made precisely to resemble yours, then nobody can tell h’us apart.”