Then she went to the bank. Señor de Mello was just arriving with his green umbrella. In his private office she explained her sudden decision as well as she could, and showed him a letter of credit. She wished to draw some money, a considerable amount for a woman to carry with her. Some emergency might arise before she could present herself at another bank.
Alonzo de Mello stared at the letter of credit. It was for two thousand dollars, many times as much as the niece of Ramon Bazán had required when intending to visit him in Cartagena. It was, in fact, every dollar of Teresa’s savings, her precious anchor to windward. The banker looked up to say, in his bland, paternal manner:
“I am not one to pry, Teresa, but there is something in this that I fail to understand. Why this large letter of credit? Did you expect to travel farther than Cartagena? For transferring your funds a draft would have been proper. Ramon’s wretched voyage frets you, but you anticipated nothing like this. We are very fond of you, as you know, and—”
“Then you will have to trust in me, dear Señor de Mello,” pleaded Teresa. “You have known me all your life. I have tried to do what seemed right.”
“No question of that,” he assured her. “You will write me from Panama? And permit me to give you a letter to my agent commending you as though you were my own daughter.”
Teresa’s eyes filled with tears. She had little more to say. When she walked out of the bank she was still feeling the stress of emotion. A dapper young man in the uniform of a lieutenant of police stepped up to accost her. Apparently he had been waiting at the entrance. She trembled. Her lips parted. She was falling, falling into some black abyss. Her courage lifted her out of it. She did not faint. What was the lieutenant saying?
“To meet the Señorita Fernandez makes the day radiant. May I have a few words with you? It is a matter that has been waiting some time.”
“As you will,” she murmured, forcing a smile. “It tires me to stand. Shall we sit in the reception room of the bank? At this early hour it is seldom in use.”
The lieutenant bowed. He was a gallant fellow with an eye for a pretty woman. He sympathized with the señorita. She was, indeed, feeling indisposed. A glance at the closed door behind which Señor de Mello sat at his desk, and Teresa inquired:
“Your errand is what?”