"You're modest—and you're more ignorant of Spanish customs than I thought. However, I'd better explain, so you'll know how Don Martin will look at it. To begin with, a well-brought-up girl is never permitted to meet a man unless she is suitably escorted by an older member of the family, and you have been wandering about with Miss Sarmiento for two or three days. Now you can understand why Carson was surprised, and I noticed he was uncertain how to address Miss Sarmiento at first. She noticed his hesitation, though you did not."
For some moments Walthew was silent, his brows knitted.
"No, I never thought of it," he admitted. "But we'll say no more about it until I've seen Don Martin. Besides, there's another matter. A fellow who joined us at the lagoon gave me a letter for you. Sorry I forgot it until now, but I had a good deal to think about."
"I don't suppose it's important," Grahame replied, and lighted a cigarette before opening the envelope with an English stamp.
Then his expression changed, and a few moments afterward he let the letter drop and sat very still. The cigarette went out, the hot sun shone upon his uncovered head, and a lizard ran across his leg; but he did not move. He seemed lost in thought. Walthew, watching with puzzled sympathy, waited for him to speak.
"This letter has been a long time on the way," he explained at last. "It probably had to wait at our Havana address, and then Don Martin's people had no opportunity to deliver it."
"But what's the news?" Walthew asked.
Grahame answered with a strained laugh.
"In a sense, it's rather a grim joke. While I've been risking my life for a few dollars' profit on smuggled guns, and practicing the sternest self-denial, it seems I've been the owner of an old Border estate."
"Ah!" said Walthew. "Then Calder Hall now belongs to you?"