“How strangely you talk!”
“I suppose it does seem strange to you, Señorita Inza.”
“I don’t think I understand you.”
“Possibly not. Still, I fancied I had said enough so you couldn’t fail to understand me. Last night as we sat on the deck of the Sachem, with the placid harbor spread around us and the mellow moonlight turning its waves to silver, I couldn’t choke back the things which came to my lips. Perhaps I was rash. Perhaps I was foolish. I couldn’t help it. You must know, señorita—you must know how I love you!”
“Stop!” she commanded, in a low, intense tone. “Let me give you a warning now. I had no chance last night, for Frank came.”
In Spanish Del Norte muttered something that was strangely like a curse.
“Yes, he came,” said the man. “I have not forgotten; nor have I forgotten, señorita, that you did not tell him just what had happened. You did not tell him I kissed your hand. That made me think that perhaps my case was not hopeless. That made me think perhaps you looked with a little favor upon me.”
“You quite mistook the reason why I did not tell him,” she declared, still repressing her voice. “I did not dare.”
“Did not dare?”
“No.”