"Indeed we do," replied Jack, emphatically. "This gentleman"—indicating Tim—"is a special correspondent, sent here by a great English paper, to report on your war."
"Our war!" echoed the Spaniard, with some surprise. "How do you know there is to be a war?"
"The telegrams to Europe say as much!" interposed Tim, speaking in Spanish.
"Telegrams sent by Don Hypolito, I have no doubt," responded Maraquando, grimly. "There will be no war, gentlemen."
"Carambo! Sacré! Damn!" ejaculated Tim, who swore fluently in all three languages. "I have been tricked, then?"
"Wait a moment, Señor Corresponsal. You will have plenty to write about; I will tell you some astonishing news shortly. Meanwhile, I must present you to my daughter, Doña Eulalia."
The girl who appeared at this moment caused them all to rise to their feet, and assuredly a more beautiful vision could not be seen anywhere. She was a little sparkling brunette, all eyes and smiles (as Tim afterwards phrased it), and when she beheld Jack, came forward eagerly to greet him with outstretched hands.
"Señor Juan," she said, in a deliciously sweet voice, "you have returned. Ah, how sorry Dol—Doña Serafina will be that she is not here to greet you."
She gave a side glance at her father on pronouncing the name of Doña Serafina; and, by that diplomatic substitution, Philip guessed that she was in the secret of the lovers.
"I trust Doña Serafina will return soon, Señora," said Jack, significantly, after exchanging courtesies. "I am anxious to see Doña Serafina."