“Why? Because you are to be married to a nice man and live happily ever afterward; and about sixty days from now, if all goes well, I, John S. Webster, am going to introduce you to your long-lost brother Ricarda You will first see Ricardo riding at the head of his victorious rebel troops as he enters Buenaventura. He will be the next president of this wretched country, if, fortunately, he is not killed in the revolution he is now fomenting against his father's ancient enemy. Your brother does not know you are living, and it will be a proud and happy day for me when I bring him to you. In the interim, what do you purpose having for breakfast? Ham and eggs sunny side up, an omelette or a cereal?”
He released her hand and favoured her with the boyish grin that always had the effect of stripping the years from him as one strips the husk from a ripe ear of com. She was gazing at him in wide-eyed amazement.
“Oh, don't doubt me,” he pleaded. “It will all come out just as I have told you. Of course, I don't go in for telling fortunes very often; I'm a slow old horse to start, but once I sneak into the collar, something has to give.”
“Is my brother really alive?”
“He was as late as midnight last night. Do you recall the chap I saved from being assassinated in New Orleans?”
“Yes.”
“Your worthy brother. And do you recall the chauffeur whose passage to this port I was forced to pay?”
“Yes.”
“The same individual. I sent him ashore in the launch with Billy, and he has been housed at El Buen Amigo, but left early this morning for the back-country to open a recruiting office.”
“And you have known this all along and wouldn't tell me?” she reproved him.