The other lady was she on whom Peter had gone mad, as he told us. I think I am right in asserting that poor Peter had eyes for nobody and nothing at table except her. She really was a charming girl. I did not wonder at Peter’s all too sensitive heart being smitten with her. Besides, you know, Peter was a sailor. He did not know her Christian name. He had simply given her one. He called her Dulzura, which certainly sounds very nice, and means “sweet,” “suave,” “pleasant,” “pretty,” and a whole regiment of other nice adjectives.
Near the head of the table sat Dulzura’s father. I knew him for her father at a glance. He was an exceedingly handsome man, but bold-looking as well as handsome, though most deferential and gentlemanly. His age might have been about fifty. I put him down at once as a soldier, but found out afterwards that, though he had been in the Chilian army, he was now, if anything, a sportsman and rover.
Well, after the dinner came the ball on the quarter-deck. There was not a great deal of room, certainly, but then our party was not large.
Señor Castizo, as Dulzura’s father was called, opened the ball, leading off in a waltz with our little mother Coates. Poor little mother Coates! she felt much flattered, but soon got tired. Darning was more in her way than dancing. But Castizo was not tired, and no sooner had Mrs Coates retired than, full of glee and delight, there rushed up to him his daughter. He might have been her elder brother, so gracefully did he waltz. The two were the admiration of all beholders, especially Peter. He was waiting to receive her, and I’ll never forget the kindly yet princely air with which her father handed the young lady over.
Peter led her away in triumph to breathe among the evergreens in the improvised conservatory. I saw Peter soon after, and I never noticed him look so happy before.
I saw him later on. He was out near the mainmast. I should have told you that the ball was on the upper deck, under an awning beautifully decorated with flags and greenery. Yes, I saw Peter there, and with him was Dulzura’s father. A glance told me he was doing the agreeable. Both were smoking such huge cigars that really Peter looked small behind his.
I next saw Peter among the musicians, playing on his clarionet. His soul seemed in it. His soul seemed more in it when asked by Dulzura to play a solo. I shall never forget that I did not know before he could play so sweetly. Surely, I thought, Peter is inspired.
Well, as far as appearances went that night it was my brother Jill who was the greater favourite with Dulzura. He could dance better than Peter.
But next day, when Peter came to breakfast with us, he could speak about nothing else but the dinner and ball of the previous evening.
I was amused, too, at the way he spoke to Jill.