"Do you wish him to come?" Evelyn asked.
Blanca smiled.
"In a sense, it does not matter to me whether he comes or not, though I would not wish him to run into danger. But he would not come alone."
Evelyn started. It was not Grahame, but Walthew, in whom Blanca was interested. Somehow she had not thought of that.
"Of course, you met Mr. Walthew in Havana," she said.
"And at Rio Frio!" There was a hint of triumphant coquetry and something deeper in Blanca's voice. "Indeed, Mr. Grahame should be grateful to me, because it was I who kept him his companion. Mr. Walthew had been dangerously ill, and was thinking of going home—though of course he did not tell me this——"
"But if he did not tell you!"
"How did I know?" Blanca laughed. "Cariña mia, how do we know such things? Is a man's face a mask? Have we no guide except what he says?"
Evelyn thought of Carmen, for Blanca had something of the great coquette's allurement and power. It was not an unconscious attraction she exercised, but the skill with which it was directed was primitive and instinctive rather than intelligent.
"And you persuaded Mr. Walthew to stay!" she said. "Did you find it hard?"