"An idle thought came into my mind," he said awkwardly.
Evelyn smiled.
"My father has come to look for me; but I shall see you again. You will be here some time?"
"A few days."
He watched her join Cliffe in the archway that led from the _patio_, and then he sat down again on the bench under the palm-tree. But he no longer heard the strum of the guitars nor the tinkle of the mandolins: he was thinking of Evelyn. There seemed to be some peculiar bond of sympathy between them; he felt that she understood him even when nothing much was said.
"Mooning all alone?" came Walthew"s voice.
Grahame laughed, and joined his comrade and Macallister, who had entered the _patio_ with Don Martin and Blanca.
CHAPTER XI
A MODERN DON QUIXOTE
The dining-room of the International Hotel was modern, but while noisy, power-driven fans stirred the heavy air and the decoration was profuse, traces of more austere ancient art remained. Stone pillars and the fretted arch at one end had an Eastern grace and lightness; among the gaudy modern lamps hung one or two finely-modeled in copper and burning scented oil. The gla.s.s and nickeled knives were American, but curious old carafes filled with red and yellow wine stood among the flowers and fruit on the long table.
Evelyn, looking down the room from its opposite end, was conscious of faint displeasure when Grahame entered with a very attractive girl. The feeling could not be jealousy, but she studied Blanca with a curiosity that was half hostile. The girl was dressed in Parisian fashion, but she walked with a grace that only Spanish women show. There was no fault to be found with her supple figure, but her black hair was rather coa.r.s.e and her blue eyes too languishing. Yet she was well bred, and the man in dark clothes who followed and was, no doubt, her father had an air of dignity. Grahame seemed to be on friendly terms with them, for they talked and laughed when they sat down and Evelyn noticed that the girl sometimes touched him coquettishly with her fan.
Walthew sat opposite with a thoughtful expression; and soon Macallister joined in the talk. It was obvious that he was amusing, for Evelyn saw those who sat near smile and then hearty laughter rose from his end of the table. The Spanish girl and Grahame no longer spoke to each other, and the engineer"s voice came up through the clink of gla.s.s and the hum of conversation, sometimes in broad Scots and sometimes in stumbling and uncouth Castilian.
When the guests were leaving the dining-room Grahame met Cliffe in the corridor.
"Glad to see you. I didn"t expect to find you in Havana," the American said cordially. "I want a smoke. Will you come along?"
They found a seat in the _patio_, and Cliffe gave Grahame a cigar.
"How"s business?" he asked.
"We can"t complain, so far," Grahame answered cautiously. "The boat, of course, does not carry much, but her light draught allows her to get into harbors that larger vessels can only enter on big tides, and we sold our last cargo at a satisfactory price. Just now I"m looking out for a few pa.s.sengers to Kingston; there"s no boat across for some time."
"I might go with you, if you have two good rooms to spare. There"s a fruit-growing estate I want to look at in Jamaica."
The suggestion was welcome to Grahame. He promised to give Cliffe part of the deckhouse, and they afterward talked of something else.
In the meanwhile, Walthew was sitting with Blanca Sarmiento. He was quiet, for he still felt languid and the _patio_ was hot; but he was conscious of his companion"s charm. Indeed, he had thought of her often since he left Rio Frio, and she had had a place in the fantastic dreams the fever brought him.
"You do not speak much, but you have been ill," she said presently, with a sympathetic glance. "It was a grief to us to hear it; but you have suffered in a good cause."
"I"m not sure of that," Walthew answered. "You see I was out for money."
"And that was all!" Blanca exclaimed in a half-contemptuous tone.
"I think so," Walthew admitted. "My people are traders and I suppose money-making runs in the family. Still, I might claim to be a soldier of fortune, if you like that better. It"s more romantic, anyhow."
"Ah!" she said with a sparkle in her eyes. "There were great soldiers of fortune among the liberators; one thinks of Bolivar, Lafayette, and Garibaldi. But the brave Italian had wounds and prison, not money, for his reward."
"These fellows are too near the top notch for me to follow. I know my limits," Walthew modestly owned.
"One should follow the highest, and chivalry is not dead; even commerce cannot kill it. There are still knights errant, who see visions and leave everything, to right the wrong and help the downtrodden. It has been my good fortune to meet one or two."
"Your Cervantes wrote about one such. Seems to me that although he meant well, Don Quixote did more harm than good."
"Ah, the sad, sad book! But you think like Cervantes? You sneer at romance?"
"I"m young, senorita, but I try to keep my head." He gave her a steady glance. "Sometimes I find it difficult."
She laughed with a sparkle of coquetry, and touched him with her fan.
"Then there is hope for you, and we will labor for your conversion. The man who always keeps his head never does anything great; the power that moves the world comes from the heart." Lowering her voice, she went on: "Our cause is just, senor, but we need trustworthy friends, even if they are not idealists. Quixote failed because he used rusty armor and the lance; we will use rifles."
Walthew was trying to be cautious, but was swept away. He had been attracted by the girl at their first meeting, though he had then felt something of the Anglo-Saxon"s prejudice against the southern races, which is not unmarked in the United States. This had gone, however, and he now wondered whether Blanca meant to use him only to further her father"s objects, or if she had any personal interest in him. Her patriotism was, he thought, a burning flame, and she would not stick at trifles where she saw a chance of serving her country. Still, it would be his fault if she were willing to get rid of him when he had done his work.
"I wonder why you thought I could be trusted?" he said.
"It is difficult to explain, senor, but one can tell, perhaps by instinct, when a man rings true."
"It would hurt to find you had been deceived?"
"It might be so," she answered slowly.
Walthew wondered if this were mere flirtation, designed to gain an end.
Blanca was playing with her fan, which lay in her lap. He could not see her eyes. He felt that he had been given an opportunity, however, and he meant to seize it. Leaning forward toward her, he waited until she raised her eyes to his, and then he spoke in a low, tense voice.
"When I was leaving Rio Frio, I found a crimson rose on the pavement. I picked it up because I ventured to think it was meant for me."
Blanca was again playing with her fan, opening and shutting it slowly.
"Senor, it is possible the flower was dropped by mistake," she said, giving him a sidewise glance that made his heart beat fast.
"How--if it was really meant for me?"
She hesitated a moment, and then, raising her head, she met his insistent look with a curious smile.
"It was given because I thought you were perhaps, in a way, and as far as it was possible for you, like the great soldiers of fortune we talked about."
Walthew made her a ceremonious bow.
"You set me a pretty big task, senorita, but, as far as it"s possible for me, I will try to make good."
He was thrilled by the look she gave him as she rose and held out her hand.
"Your conversion begins," she said, with a strange, new note in her voice. "It is a chivalrous resolve, and--you will live up to it, senor."