In Miriam’s company, Freeman forgot every one save her,—even himself,—though she certainly made no effort to attract him or (beyond the commonplaces of courtesy) to interest him. Consequently he had become entirely oblivious of the existence of such a person as Grace Parsloe, when, much to his irritation, he heard the voice of that young lady, mingled with others, approaching along the veranda. At the same moment he experienced acute regret at the whim of fortune which had made himself and that sprightly young lady fellow-passengers from Panama, and at the idle impulse which had prompted him to flirt with her.
But the past was beyond remedy: it was his concern to deal with the present. In a few seconds, Grace entered the curiosity-room, followed by Professor Meschines, and by a dashing young Mexican senor, whom Freeman had met the previous evening, and who was called Don Miguel de Mendoza. The senor, to judge from his manner, had already fallen violently in love with Grace, and was almost dislocating his organs of speech in the effort to pay her romantic compliments in English. Freeman observed this with unalloyed satisfaction. But the look which Grace bent upon him and Miriam, on entering, and the ominous change which passed over her mobile countenance, went far to counteract this agreeable impression.
One story is good until another is told. Freeman had really thought Grace a fascinating girl, until he saw Miriam. There was no harm in that: the trouble was, he had allowed Grace to perceive his admiration. He had already remarked that she was a creature of violent extremes, tempered, but not improved, by a thin polish of subtlety. She was now about to give an illustration of the passion of jealousy. But it was not her jealousy that Freeman minded: it was the prospect of Miriam’s scorn when she should surmise that he had given Grace cause to be jealous. Miriam was not the sort of character to enter into a competition with any other woman about a lover. He would lose her before he had a chance to try to win her.
But fortune proved rather more favorable than Freeman expected, or, perhaps, than he deserved. Grace’s attack was too impetuous. She stopped just inside the threshold, and said, in an imperious tone, “Come here, Mr. Freeman: I wish to speak to you.”
“Thank you,” he replied, resolving at once to widen the breach to the utmost extent possible, “I am otherwise engaged.”
“Upon my word,” observed the professor, with a chuckle, “you’re no diplomatist, Harvey! What are you two about here? Investigating antiquities?”
“The remains of ancient Mexico are more interesting than some of her recent products,” returned Freeman, who wished to quarrel with somebody, and had promptly decided that Senor Don Miguel de Mendoza was the most available person. He bowed to the latter as he spoke.
“You—a—spoken to me?” said the senor, stepping forward with a polite grimace. “I no to quite comprehend——”
“Pray don’t exert yourself to converse with me out of your own language, senor,” interrupted Freeman, in Spanish. “I was just remarking that the Spaniards seem to have degenerated greatly since they colonized Mexico.”
“Senor!” exclaimed Don Miguel, stiffening and staring.