It was ten minutes later when Austin met Jacinta, and she stopped him with a sign.
"You are going to Mr. Jefferson?" she said.
"Yes," said Austin, with a trace of dryness. "I believe so. After all, he is a friend of mine."
Jacinta watched him closely, and her pale, olive-tinting was a trifle warmer in tone than usual. His self-control was excellent, to the little smile, but she could make a shrewd guess as to what it cost him.
"Soon?" she asked.
"In two or three days. That is, if the Compania don't get the Spaniards to lay hands on me. By the way, you may as well know now that I had to get Mrs. Hatherly to lend me part, at least, of the necessary money."
Jacinta flushed visibly. "You will not be vindictive, though, of course, I have now and then been hard on you."
"I shouldn't venture to blame you. As we admitted, there are occasions on which one has to resort to drastic remedies."
Jacinta stopped him with a gesture. "Please—you won't," she said. "Of course, I deserve it, but you will try to forgive me. You can afford to—now."
She stood still a moment in the moonlight, an ethereal, white-clad figure, with a suggestion of uncertainly and apprehension in her face which very few people had ever seen there before, and then turned abruptly, with a little smile of relief, as Miss Gascoyne came towards them.