“Where did you find him?” she asked. “Where did you find my little brother? Marius is a strange child. He drifts around, but he seems safe from everybody—” her voice rose passionately, “—everybody.”
Rio replied absently, fascinated by the girl’s frail dignity, so contrary to her enterprise.
“I found him playin’ in the sand by the banana docks,” he said. “He kind of reminded me of my best friend. Somehow, he made me think of Martin.”
The girl spoke frankly.
“It only happens so. Our father loved our mother and lived here many years with her. One day he was caught in a storm. He was fishing—” She hesitated. “And after that, our mother could not remember things. It was well she died.... He was an educated man—a gentleman who came this way.... That is why the boy speaks as he does. He remembers the lessons of our father.”
Marius returned to the room with a chilled lime drink for Rio, and rubbed Rio’s face with a moist towel.
“Where did you get the ice?” asked his sister, smiling. “Did you steal it?”
“No,” answered the child. “I bought two pennies’ worth from the ugly red man in the ugly red cart.” He picked up a box of rouge and went to a wide mirror. Then he carefully repainted his cheeks. The deep color, though applied in indiscriminate and garish quantities, served still further the willful abandonment of his features.
“You use too much,” said his sister. “Why do you use so much?”
“Because it makes me look like an old girl. Just like an old girl I know,” replied the boy.