Van Zandt signals to a waiter. “A little wine will help lighten our hearts,” he tells Mrs. Harding; “for believe me, mine is not less heavy than yours. Cheer up and we will drink a toast to all unrequited love.”
Isabel gives him a swift look of surprise. “You heard?” she demands.
“I heard nothing,” he replies, smilingly. “What has given rise to your question?”
“’Tis less than an hour since I offered that very toast. I have had a proposal to-night.”
“Indeed? And you rejected it?”
“Can you ask such a question. The world is full of Don Manadas, but there is only one—”
“So? The swarthy gentleman, with the curious white mustachios?” interrupts Van Zandt. “I noticed you talking with him.”
“I had rejected him twice before, but his persistence is worthy of a better cause. To-night I promised to accompany him on a filibustering expedition to Cuba. Think of it! The fool!” sneers Isabel.
“And you will not go.”
“Most certainly not. I only half-promised. To-morrow I shall send word that I have changed my mind.”