"I fancy every one likes to feel that he or she will be missed," I answered. "You may be sure I shall often think of Equinata. Perhaps some day I may be able to return."
"Who knows where we shall be then?" she replied gloomily.
"What do you mean?" I asked in a tone of surprise. "You will, of course, be here, leading the Social Life of Equinata as you do now!"
"I am afraid that even now you do not realize how quickly affairs change in South America," she replied. "Some one else may manage to catch the Public Fancy, there will be a Revolution and we shall go out of power—perhaps to our graves!"
"I cannot believe that. In any case your uncle would take care your safety is assured!"
She gave a little impatient tap with her foot upon the stones.
"Of course he would protect me if he could," she answered, "but he might not be able to do anything. Had you not come to our rescue on that island, what use would his protection have been to me? How do I know that we may not be situated like that again? Oh, I am tired of this life—tired—tired!"
Almost before I knew what had happened she was leaning on the balustrading, sobbing as if her heart would break. I was so taken by surprise, that for a moment I did not know what to say, or do, to comfort her. Then I went forward and placed my hand gently upon her shoulder.
"Señorita," I said, "is there anything I can do to help you?"
"No, no," she answered. "You can do nothing! Leave me to my misery. Does it matter to you, or to any one, what becomes of me?"