“Not too loud!” her husband cautioned, then to Kirk:  “Good-luck, old man.  Lord!  I need a bracer.”  His words stuck in his throat, and Kirk realized that he was himself the calmest of the three.  Together, Runnels and his wife strolled off through the crowd, disappearing in the direction of the north wing of the hotel.

It seemed ages before the orchestra struck up; Kirk began to fear that something had happened to the musicians.  He edged closer to the door and searched out Chiquita with his eyes.  There she was, seated with her father, Colonel Bland from Gatun, and some high officer or other—­probably an admiral.  Ramon Alfarez was draped artistically over the back of her chair, curling his mustache tenderly and smiling vacantly at the conversation.

Kirk ground his teeth together and set his feet as if for the sound of the referee’s whistle.  He heard the orchestra leader tap his music-stand; then, as the first strains of the waltz floated forth, he stepped into the ballroom and made toward his sweetheart.  All at once he found that his brain was clear, his heart-beats measured.

Of course she saw him coming; she had waited all the long evening for this moment.  He saw her hand flutter uncertainly to her throat; then, as he paused before her, she rose without a word.  His arm encircled her waist, her little, cold palm dropped into his as lightly as a snowflake, and they glided away together.  He found himself whispering her name over and over again passionately.

“Why—­why did you do this, senor?” she protested, faintly.  “It is very hard for me.”

“It is the last time I shall ever hold you—­this way.”

She faltered, her breath caught.  “Please!  My father is looking.  Ramon—­”

“Have you agreed to marry him?”

“Yes!  No no!  Oh, I have prayed to the Virgin every hour.  I cannot, and yet I must.  See!  I cannot waltz, senor, I have s-stepped upon you.  Take me back to my seat.”

For answer he pressed her closer to his breast, holding her up without effort.  The incense from her hair was robbing him of his wits, his old wild desire to pick her up and carry her away swept over him.

“Don’t—­esqueeze—­me—­so!” she exclaimed.  “I cannot hold back—­the tears.  I am so unhappy.  If I could die quickly—­now.”

“Let us go out on the porch.”

“No, no!  We must remain in my father’s sight.  Will you take me to my seat?”

“No, I want you to listen carefully to what I’m going to say.”  He spoke low and earnestly.  “Try to show nothing in your face, for they are watching us.”  Seeing her more composed and attentive, he went on: 

“Don’t stop dancing now, when I tell you.  Chiquita dear, you must marry me, to-night, right away!  I have arranged everything.  No, don’t look up at me until I have finished.  Try to smile.  I’ve planned it all out and everything is in readiness.  I have a room just around the corner of the veranda; there’s a judge waiting for us, and Runnels and his wife—­”