Taking this as a dismissal, Walthew went back to where Grahame was waiting and smoked a cigarette with him. Soon after he had finished it, a drowsy soldier beckoned him and he returned to Sarmiento. When he reached the table Blanca had gone.
"Señor," he said, "I have a favor to ask; but the accident that I was thrown into Miss Sarmiento's company at the hacienda and Rio Frio has nothing to do with it. You must understand that. I want your consent to my marriage to your daughter."
"Ah!" said Don Martin. "You have learned that she is willing?"
Walthew felt half guilty when he thought of the kiss beneath the window-sill, but he looked at Don Martin steadily.
"I thought it better to follow your customs," he explained. "Blanca does not know I meant to ask you. But I want to say that my mind has been made up for some time. It was for her sake that I determined to stay on the coast and give you all the help I could."
There was a gleam of amusement in Don Martin's eyes.
"Then my daughter gained us a useful ally. But, so far, you have spoken for yourself. What about your parents? Blanca Sarmiento is not an American."
Walthew hesitated for a moment.
"They may feel some surprise, but I believe it will vanish when they have seen her; and I choose my wife to please myself. I think I have means enough to make my way without any help, though I haven't a great deal."
"How much?"