"You have had an accident, Doña Fausta; let me aid you."
But the girth was beyond aid; it was old and had worn itself in twain. And as he examined it he noticed that the saddle was not of the kind that women prefer.
"It is needless, Don Ruis. See, it is an easy matter." And with that she unwound her crimson girdle, and in a moment, with dexterous skill, she removed the broken girth, replaced the saddle on the horse, and bound it to him with the sash. "But I thank you," she added, gravely.
Ruis was a little sceptical about the security of this arrangement, and that scepticism he ventured to express. But the girl was on the horse, unassisted, before he had finished the sentence.
"Have no fears, Don Ruis. Besides, our house is but a little bird's flight from here. I could have walked, if need were."
Ruis remounted. "May I not accompany you?" he asked.
"To-morrow," she answered; and for the first time she smiled. For to-morrow in a Cuban mouth means anything except what it expresses. And as she said it, Ruis smiled too.
"How do you know my name?" he inquired.
"We—my mother and I—we are your neighbors."
"Ah, Doña Fausta, in that case, I pray you make my duty to the lady your mother, and beg of her a permission that I may do so myself."