"Capricious boy! So soon tired of your rural retreat?"
"You cannot guess the cause of my return?"
"No, indeed."
"What, Don Juan! Can you not imagine that there may be a loadstar shining in this city, which draws me back to it in spite of myself?"
"Ah! I begin to understand. And that loadstar is—"
"Your daughter, Camillia."
The Spaniard was silent for some moments, as if absorbed in thought. Then, turning to the planter, he said, gravely, "Augustus Horton, I have long foreseen this. I will freely own to you, that some time since, I cherished more ambitious views for my only child. We Spaniards are a proud race, and I once hoped that the husband of my daughter might be one of the haughty nobles of my distant native land. But that is past now," he added, with a sigh; "your rank is as high as that of any man in Louisiana. You are no penniless adventurer who seeks to enrich himself by marriage. You are young, handsome, wealthy. Win her, then, you have my free consent."
"And your assistance?"
"Yes."
"But if she should refuse?"