"Then somebody is hurt."
"Oh, no; oh, no." Anita wrung her hands in futile excitement.
"Tell me what she is talking about, or at least trying to," Aunt Manning turned to Mr. Kirkby. "Is it that young man who is hurt? Who is he?"
"He is Pepé, my brother Pepé," cried Anita.
"I don't believe a word of it," declared Aunt Manning. It was too new a fact for her to accept at once. "Pepé, such a name. Why don't you call him Joseph? Come here, young man, and I'll look at you. I can soon tell if you are an impostor. Pepé, such a silly nursery sort of name."
Mrs. Beltrán, clasping her son's arm, turned him around to face the old lady. "This is our very dear Aunt Manning," she said, "your great-aunt, my son."
Aunt Manning looked him up and down. "Drayton all over," she decided finally. "Not a speck of Spanish anywhere that I can see, and I hope he will drop that ridiculous Spanish name."
"It is a long time since anyone has called me by it," replied Pepé, in excellent English. "My good friend, Mr. Abercrombie began by calling me Don José, in a sort of sport, but it soon came to be merely Don, and so he has called me for a long time."
"It was just that which fooled us," cried Anita. "We heard him call you so in Barcelona, and you looked so English that we made up our minds that you must be named Donald, especially as you called him uncle."
"It is his wish that I do so. He is such a friend as I never had in all my life before."