As he left the office for the day he was handed a note from Mrs. Cortlandt requesting him to call at once, and, summoning a coach, he was driven directly to her house.  Unlike the Garavel home, the house which the Cortlandts had leased was set upon the water-front, its rear balcony overlooking the sea where it lapped the foundation of the city wall.  It was a delightful old place, shut off from the street by a yard filled with flowering plants and shrubs, and, though flanked in true Spanish fashion by stores and shops, it was roomy and comfortable.

Edith kept him waiting a moment before she descended, dressed for her afternoon ride.

“You see, I haven’t given up my horse in spite of your neglect,” she said, as she gave him her hand, “You got my note?”

“Yes, and I came straight from the office.”

“I suppose you know what it is about and are wondering how I heard the news.”

“What news?”

“Your ‘engagement.’” She laughed with an amusement that did not ring quite true.

“You’re the second one to speak about that.  I’m not engaged.”

“Of course not.  Don’t think for a moment I believed it.  I was calling on some Spanish people this afternoon and heard the report—­I admit it was a shock.  When I learned the details I knew at once you ought to be told before it developed into something embarrassing.  Come into the other room; there is a breeze from the water.”  She led him into the parlor, from which the open windows, shielded now by drawn shutters, gave egress to the rear porch with its chairs and hammock.

“Dear, dear!  You foolish boy, you’re always in trouble, aren’t you?  You really don’t deserve to be helped.  Why, you have avoided me for weeks.”

“The new arrangement has swamped us with work.  I have had no time to go out.”

“Indeed!  You had time to run after the first pretty Spanish face you saw.  I’m really angry, though I suppose I can’t blame you.  After all, she is charming, in her way.”

“You mean Miss Garavel?”

“Yes.  Didn’t you realize what you were doing?”

“I realized what I was trying to do.”

“Naughty!  But why select her of all people?  There are dozens of others who could amuse you and whose people would not object.  Andres Garavel isn’t that sort; he is a rich man, he has political ambitions, he’s a very proud sort.  Now, I suppose I must get you out of this difficulty as best I can.  You ought to be more careful.”

“Please!” he said, crossly.  “I could understand better what you are talking about if I knew just what this difficulty is.”

“Why, this silly ‘engagement’ of yours.  Don’t pretend to be so stupid.”

“Ramon Alfarez heard that same report, and very courteously invited me to wait a few minutes while he killed me.  It’s tremendously flattering to be linked up with Miss Garavel, of course, but I haven’t asked her to marry me.”