"Custom of the country," said Bill. "No getting around it. Couldn't if you wanted to. Even Arthur is asleep."
I listened. We were on the verandah, and all about us was a stillness which was almost audible. On the white road beyond our gates I saw a pair of oxen, toiling patiently up the hill. Even the birds were quiet, only now and then a sleepy chirping drifted down the hot air. It seemed as if a veil had been drawn over the land. My eyelids felt freighted, and I was very tired.
"Bed!" said Bill firmly.
I left Peter to his tender mercies and went indoors. My room was cool, and sweet with flower perfume. Sarah, yawning, came when I rang, and unhooked my frock. As I lay down on the bed, I heard her say something, bitterly, about "an unhealthy climate," but if she said more, I do not know what it was, for I was fast and dreamlessly asleep.
It was Arthur who woke me, making the day hideous with his laughter. "Mother's darling!" he announced, unctuously. "Pretty Arthur! Arthur! Arthur!"
I turned over and felt for my watch. Four o'clock! It was incredible. And equally beyond belief, the fact that I was hungry again!
I bathed and dressed, and then, wonderfully rested, went out on the verandah. Fong and Wing appeared as if by magic and laid the tea-table with iced tea, tiny round tomato sandwiches, and delectable frosted cakes. And also, as if answering some compelling summons, Peter, bright-eyed and red-cheeked, strolled out from the direction of Bill's room. It was quite apparent that both of them had been asleep.
"Tea?" I asked my husband, as his tall figure loomed up behind Peter.
"Certainly!" he said. "It's a necessity in Cuba, not a mere excuse for sociability."
All about us the birds were singing again, and the palms looked new washed.