Passing through Santos, which is one of the smallest of villages, embracing only a jail, a church and a score of dwellings, the travelers take the road to La Quinta de Quesada, which is located in the center of the Pueblo de Olivet.
The Quinta is a square, two-storied affair and the principal material in its construction is coral stone. The inevitable and grateful veranda stretches around three sides and an air of quiet luxury is evident in the spacious house and its attractive surroundings.
As Navarro and Ashley ride slowly up the shaded carriage way and turn suddenly in sight of the quinta, the first objects that greet Jack’s vision are two young people in one of the hammocks on the veranda. A young man’s arm encircles a young lady’s waist and the attitude of the pair suggests either the relations of lovers or of brother and sister. They start up in some confusion upon the advent of a stranger and come forward to greet Navarro. When the latter dismounts the young man embraces him warmly and Navarro, as he rests one arm affectionately about the youth’s shoulders, says to Ashley: “My younger brother, Don Carlos.” Then he turns to the young lady:
“Juanita, I want you to know my friend, Senor Jack Ashley of New York. Senor Ashley, La Senorita de Quesada.”
Ashley has slid from his horse and his acknowledgment of the introduction is rather less debonair than usual; because, as he confesses afterward to himself, he is somewhat confused by the beauty of the young woman, who gives him her hand and tells him that the quinta has no friends more welcome than Don Emilio.
And here is an outline of Juanita de Quesada, the Pearl of the Antilles, as sketched rapidly but indelibly upon the tablets of Jack Ashley’s memory:
She is 20 or thereabouts, and is considerably below the medium height. The proportions of her slender yet full form are as perfect as nature ever molds. Her face is oval, and her complexion a soft, creamy olive. Evidences of her race are in the lead-black hair, the dark, dreamy eyes of liquid fire, the rather large, tremulous mouth, with its scarlet lips, and the completing perfection of Cuban loveliness, the dainty little feet with the incomparable arches. All Cuban women are not beautiful, but as Ashley looks upon the present picture he decides that the imperfections of her sisters are amply compensated for by the dazzling loveliness of the Senorita de Quesada. “She is glorious,” he thinks; and then: “I wonder if she knows anything.”
Hardly less striking, though dissimilar in character, is the beauty of Don Carlos Navarro. He is a slender youth, with dark-brown eyes and curly hair, and if it were not for the effeminacy of his regular features he would receive the critical approval of the New Yorker. As it is, Ashley confesses that Juanita and Don Carlos are the handsomest young pair he ever set eyes upon, and he wonders what may be the relationship existing between them. For Carlos is no more Spanish in appearance than his brother Emilio.
“Where is Don Quesada?” asks Navarro, when the party have disposed themselves upon the veranda.
“With his books and papers, as usual,” replies Carlos, with a significant glance at his brother. “Come, I will take you to him. He will be overjoyed to greet you. It is nearly two weeks, Emilio, since we last saw you.”