gave a side glance at her father on pronouncing the name of Doña Serafina; and, by that diplomatic substitution, Philip guessed that she was in the secret of the lovers.
“I trust Doña Serafina will return soon, Señora,” said Jack, significantly, after exchanging courtesies. “I am anxious to see Doña Serafina.”
Eulalia put her black fan up to hide the smile on her lips, and intimated that she expected her aunt back on the morrow. Nothing was said of Dolores; but Jack was not so dull a lover as not to know that, in this case, the lesser Serafina included the greater Dolores. Meanwhile, neither Tim nor Philip could keep their eyes off this Spanish beauty, and Don Miguel graciously presented them to his daughter. As for Peter, he was examining an ugly clay god at the other end of the court, which showed that he had no eye for beauty.
“At your feet, lady,” said Philip, in his best Castillian.
“My hands for your kisses, Señor,” she responded, coquettishly, whereat the baronet felt a strange feeling about the region of his heart.
“Oh, Lord, Lord!” he muttered, as Tim was executing court bows to the lady. “Great Heaven! this cannot be love at first sight. It must be the pulque.”
He caught Jack’s eye at this moment, and saw a derisive smile on that young man’s lips, whereat he smiled also, as if to intimate that he thought but little of the dainty beauty. Jack knew better, however. Then Peter was torn away from his Aztec deity, and presented in due form, making use, at the introduction, of all the Spanish of which he was master.
“Bueno! Bueno!” quoth Peter, in perplexity, when Philip came to his rescue.
“Say ‘a los pies de usted,’ Señora,” he whispered quickly.
“I can’t remember all that,” protested the doctor.
“Try.”
“A los pres ud worsted!”
Doña Eulalia put up her fan at the sound of Peter’s Spanish; but understanding the drift of his remark, replied gravely enough:
“Bése usted los manos, Señor.”
“What’s that, Philip?”
“My hands for your kisses, Señor.”
“Will I have to kiss them?” asked Peter, in dismay.
“No; it’s only a matter of form.”
At this assurance, the doctor was much relieved, and not feeling any profound interest in a dialogue carried on completely in a foreign tongue, returned to his examination of the Aztec gods. Maraquando was already deep in conversation with Jack and Tim, so Philip had Doña Eulalia all to himself, and made good use of this solitude of two. He was glad he knew Spanish. ‘Tis a pleasant language in which to talk gay nonsense.
On her side, Eulalia had no strong objection to the company of this eccentric American—all foreigners are Americans with the Cholacacans—and though he was a heretic, yet he spoke Spanish beautifully, and had no lack of pretty sayings at his command. Doña Eulalia would have flirted with a lepero in default of anything better; and as Don Felipe was a most desirable young man from every point of view, she lost no time in making herself agreeable. Philip, the cynic, enjoyed it greatly, thereby proving that a considerable portion of his misogamy was humbug. With the hour comes the eternal feminine. This was the hour—Eulalia the woman. It flashed across Philip’s mind at that moment that he was playing with fire. Confident in his own imperviousness to fire, he went on playing. Then he burnt himself, and great was his outcry.
“I always understood,” said Cassim to his charming companion, “that Cholacacan ladies were shut up like nuns.”
“A great many of them are, Señor,” replied Eulalia, demurely; “but my father is more liberal in his ideas. He delights in presenting us to his friends.”
“How charming—for the friends.”
“And how delightful—for us poor women. I assure you, Señor, that I would not care to be shut up at all; neither would my cousin Dolores!”
“I have heard of Doña Dolores from Jack!”
Eulalia flashed a glance at him from her glorious dark eyes, bit the top of her fan, and made an irrelevant observation.
“My cousin admires fair people.”
“And Don Juan is fair. Oh, never fear, Señora, I know all.”
“All what, Don Filipe?”
“All about fair people!” replied Philip, skilfully, “though, for my part, I prefer dark ladies.”
This last remark was too much even for the audacious coquetry of Eulalia, and she, glancing uneasily at her father, turned the conversation with a dexterity begotten by long practice.
“My aunt, Doña Serafina, is dark. She is our duenna, you know. I am sure you will find her very charming.”
“Oh, certainly, Señora, on your recommendation I——”
“And Tlatonac is charming, also,” interposed the lady, smartly. “Do you stay long here, Señor?”
“That depends on—shall we say—Señor Duval.”
His intention was to hint Dolores; but Doña Eulalia evidently thought the acquaintanceship was becoming too intimate, and entrenched herself behind her fan and a smile.
“Rather does it depend on Don Hypolito.”
“Ah! Is there, then, to be a war?”
“I do not know, Señor. My father thinks it likely. If there is, of course you will go?”
“No! Why should I? Tlatonac has many attractions for me.”
“My father will show you all over it to-morrow,” rejoined Eulalia, with a mischievous smile. She knew quite well what he meant, but was not going to betray such knowledge at such an early period of her acquaintance. The proprieties must be observed—even in Cholacaca. Mrs. Grundy is not indigenous to Britain only. She flourished at Tlatonac under the name of Doña Serafina.
“You came in a steamer, did you not, Señor?”
“Yes; in my yacht, The Bohemian.”
“Your vessel, Señor?”
“Yes.”
Eulalia opened her eyes. This Americano must be very rich to own the boat she had seen steaming into the harbour. But, then, all Americanos were rich; though not all so nice as this one.
“You must do me the honour of coming on board, Señora,” said Philip, eagerly. Then, seeing her draw back in alarm at this audacious proposal, “Of course, with Don Miguel and Doña Serafina. Likewise your cousin. My friend Don Juan is anxious to see Doña Dolores.”
“Hush, Señor!” said Eulalia, quickly, glancing towards her father; “it is a secret. Do not speak of it now; but let us talk to the Señor yonder with the spectacles.”
“He cannot talk Spanish.”
“Oh yes, he can, Señor, I heard him.”
She burst out into a merry laugh, and went towards Peter, followed by the reluctant Cassim. Philip was getting on excellently well, and rather resented the introduction of a third person into the conversation, even though it was but harmless Peter. That gentleman would much rather have been left alone to potter about the patio by himself; but Doña Eulalia, who saw his embarrassment, wickedly made him attempt Spanish, much to his discomfiture. Philip translated his compliments to Eulalia, whereon she smiled so graciously on the little man that the baronet grew restless, and Peter began to think there were other things in the world besides butterflies.
Meanwhile Don Miguel was having an interesting conversation with Tim and Jack concerning the state of affairs