“He’s a fine singer, and he plays beautifully on both the guitar and mandolin.”
“I confess he’s a fine singer. Had I never seen him to talk with him, I should enjoy his singing; but now the very sound of his voice gives me a little shivery feeling, and I want to stop my ears.”
“Why, I never dreamed you were such a prejudiced person, Elsie! You always see the good in everybody.”
“That’s right, and, therefore, something tells me that when I see the bad in a person that person must be very, very bad. Inza, I can’t help it, but in spite of the polish of Porfias del Norte, in spite of his politeness, his education, his entertaining manners, I feel that he is a snake, and a poisonous snake at that.”
“Of course, you may be right, Elsie,” said Inza; “but I have never regarded you as an acute student of human nature.”
“Nor do I profess to be, but still Profias del Norte——”
“I beg your pardon,” said a smooth, musical voice that made both girls start. “Are you speaking of me, ladies? I hope I don’t intrude.”
A slender, graceful man stepped forward with a soft footfall. He was dressed in light flannels and bowed politely, with his hat in one hand and a guitar in the other, as the two girls partly rose from their chairs.
“I beg you not to be disturbed, ladies,” he said. “I was seeking a spot on deck where I might smoke and drum a little on my guitar when I happened to pass you. I fancy I heard my name spoken.”
“Yes,” said Inza at once, “we were speaking of you Señor del Norte. I don’t know just how it happened—perhaps it was caused by the moonlight, by the almost tropical calm and beauty of this night.”