"And if you should play the best in the world, I should never know it, absorbed as I should be in your personal presence," replied the youth, with ardor.
Mrs. Harold laughed. Winthrop (listening to Mrs. Thorne's remarks upon Emerson) glanced towards their little group.
"People do not talk in that way at the North. That is why she laughs," said Garda, explanatorily.
"And do I care how they talk in their frozen North!" cried Manuel. "I talk as my heart dictates."
"Do so," said Garda, "but later. At present, go and cheer up poor Mr. Torres; he is fairly shivering with loneliness over there in his corner."
Manuel, who, in spite of his studied attitude at the feet of Mrs. Harold, was evidently the slave of whatever whim Garda chose to express, rose to obey. "But do not in the least imagine that Adolfo needs cheering," he explained, still posing a little as he stood before them with his guitar. "He entertains himself perfectly, always; he is never lonely, he has only to think of his ancestors. Adolfo is, in fact, a very good ancestor already. As to his shivering—that shows how little you know him; he is a veritable volcano, that silent one! Still, I obey your bidding, I go."
"What do you think of him?" said Garda, as he crossed the room towards the solitary Cuban.
"Mr. Torres?"
"No; Mr. Ruiz."
"I know him so slightly, I cannot say I have formed an opinion."