“But you’ve seen her; you have called at her house!”

“Sure!  Twice; at the invitation of the old gentleman.  All the little Garavels were lined up like mourners.”

“And you dined there last night.  Is that all you have seen of her?”

“N-no!  I’ve seen her at Las Savannas.  That’s why I went hunting so often.”

At this confession, which Kirk delivered with sheepish reluctance, Mrs. Cortlandt drew herself up with an expression of anger.

“Then this has been going on for some time,” she cried.  “Why, Kirk, you never told me!”

“Why should I?”

She flushed at this unconscious brutality, but after a moment ran on bravely; “Oh, well, I suppose any man would enjoy that sort of an adventure, particularly with such a pretty girl, but why did you let it go so far?  Why did you let them commit you?”

“Am I committed?”

Her look was half offended, half incredulous.  “Are you trying to be disagreeable, or is it possible you don’t know the meaning of those invitations to call, and to dine with the family, and all that?  Why, they expect you to marry her.  It is all settled now, according to the Spanish custom.  The whole town is talking about it, I can’t understand, for the life of me, how you ever allowed yourself to go there the second time and to dine.”  Seeing the look in his face, she cried, sharply, “You don’t mean—­that you’re in earnest?” She was staring at him as if disbelieving her eyes.

“Certainly, I’m in earnest.”

Edith turned away abruptly.

“I hope you’re not joking,” said Kirk.  “Jove!  I—­I’m knocked clear off my pins.”  A tremendous wave of excitement surged over him.  “So, that’s what Alfarez meant.  That’s what she meant last night when she told me to look up—­” He broke off suddenly, for Edith’s face had gone chalk-white.

“But, Kirk, what about me?” she asked, in a strained voice.

There was deathlike silence in the room.

“You can’t love her,” said the woman.  “Why, she’s only a child, and she’s—­Spanish.”

They stood motionless, facing each other.  At last Kirk said, gravely and deliberately,

“Yes, I love her better than anything in the world and I want to marry her.  I could give up my country, my dad—­anything for her.”

Pressing her gloved fingers to her temples she turned her head blindly from side to side, whispering as if to herself: 

“What will become of me?”

“Don’t,” he cried, in a panic, and cast a hurried look over his shoulders.  “You’ll be overheard—­you’ll be seen.  You don’t know what you’re saying.  Where’s Cortlandt?”

“At his club, I suppose.  I don’t know—­I—­I don’t care.”  Then the paralysis that had numbed her vanished, and she spoke with quivering intensity.  “You’ve been dishonest with me, Kirk.”

“Don’t act this way,” he ordered, roughly.  “I’m terribly fond of you, but I never knew—­”