“Yes, dear. And I am so glad to see you. I have heard all about you.”
“Did he write to you––from Simití?”
“Yes, long letters. And he told all about his little girl. He said your name was––”
“Carmen,” interrupted the girl, with a great surge of gladness, for here was one woman who did not avoid her.
“Yes, Carmen. It is a sweet name.”
“But––Mr. Harris!” cried Carmen, suddenly stopping as she remembered.
“Oh, did he wait? Well, he will come. He knows where to find the automobiles. I will leave word with the pier-master to tell him.”
By this time they had wormed their way clear of the crowd and gained the street. The woman, still retaining Carmen’s hand, went directly to a waiting automobile and pushed the unresisting girl through the open door. Carmen had never seen a conveyance like this, and her thought was instantly absorbed. She looked wonderingly for the horses. And then, sinking into the luxurious cushions, she fell to speculating as to how the thing was moved.
As the chauffeur reached back to close the door a policeman, who had been eying the party since they came out of the shed, stepped up and laid a hand on the car.