Miss Sallie gave a sigh of relief. If this estimable young man sanctioned the trip she felt they might take it with clear consciences. But she did hope her brother’s views on the subject would be the same.
Then the talk drifted into other channels.
“You are a Spaniard, I presume, Mr. Martinez?” questioned Miss Sallie.
“Yes, Madam, a Spaniard by birth, a Frenchman by education and at present an American by choice. I have lived in England, also, but I believe I prefer America to all other countries, even my own.”
Miss Stuart was much gratified at this avowal. She felt that in complimenting America he was complimenting her indirectly.
“Have you seen the Alhambra and the Rock of Gibraltar?” demanded Mollie, her wide, blue eyes full of interest.
“Oh, yes, Madamoiselle,” replied the handsome Spaniard, smiling at her gently, “I have seen the Alhambra many times, and Gibraltar once only.” A curious shade passed over his face as if Gibraltar held memories which he was not anxious to revive.
“Does the Rock of Gibraltar really look like a lion?” asked Grace, who had not noticed his distaste to the mere mention of the name.
“I do not know, Madamoiselle,” he replied shortly. “I saw it only from land. I was,” he added hesitatingly, “very ill when I was there.”
The waiter announced the chief of police to see Miss Sallie, and the luncheon party adjourned to the shady side of the piazza.