An hour later, Dom Corria and Carmela met in a corridor. They were discussing arrangements for a speedy move to the capital when Iris ran into them. Her face was flushed, and she had been crying. Much to Carmela's amazement, the English girl clasped her round the neck and kissed her.
"Tell your father, my dear, that he has been very good to me," she whispered; then her face grew scarlet again, and she hurried away.
"Excellent!" said the President. "That old man is a gentleman. His friend is not. Yet they are very much alike in other respects. Odd thing! Carmela cara, can you spare a few minutes from your invalid?"
"Yes, father."
"Go, then, and find that young Englishman, Philip Hozier. Tell him that the engagement between Miss Yorke and Mr. Bulmer is broken off."
Carmela's black eyes sparkled. That wayward blood of hers surged in her veins, but Dom Corria's calm glance dwelt on her, and the spasm passed.
"Yes, father," she said dutifully.
He stroked his chin as he went out to pronounce a funeral oration on those who had fallen during the fight.
"I think," said he reflectively, "I think that Carmela dislikes that girl. I wonder why?"
Philip had never, to his knowledge, seen the Senhora De Sylva. Watts spoke of her, remarking that she was "a reel pleasant young lady, a bit flighty, p'raps, but, then, 'oo could tell wot any gal would do one minnit from the next?" And that was all.