From all quarters of the town came the inhabitants to the alameda, and the vast promenade presented a singularly gay appearance. The national costumes of Spanish America were wonderfully picturesque, and what with the background of green trees, sparkling fountains, brilliant flower-beds, and, over all, the violet tints of the twilight, Philip found the scene sufficiently charming. He was walking beside Jack, in default of Eulalia, who, in company with Dolores, marched demurely beside Doña Serafina. This was a public place, the eyes of Tlatonac gossips were sharp, their tongues were bitter, so it behoved discreet young ladies, as these, to keep their admirers at a distance. In the patio it was quite different.
Tim had gone off with Don Miguel, to attach himself to the personal staff of the President, and take shorthand notes of the speech. It had been the intention of Peter to follow his Irish friend, but, unfortunately, he lost him in the crowd, and therefore returned to the side of Philip, who caught sight of him at once.
"Where's Tim?" asked the baronet, quickly; "gone off with Don Miguel?"
"Yes; to the Palacio Nacional."
"I thought you were going?"
"I lost sight of them."
"An excuse, Peter," interposed Jack, with a twinkle in his eye. "You remained behind to look at the Señoritas."
Peter indignantly repudiated the idea.
"His heart is true to his Poll," said Philip, soothingly; "thereby meaning Doña Serafina. Darling!"
Philip mimicked the old lady's pronunciation of the word, and Jack laughed; not so Peter.