"Why not? I'm perfectly well—"
"Please answer me."
Leslie settled back in his chair. "I dare say some of the Cuban Cabinet officers could put up a good bluff at a marriage ceremony."
"A bluff wouldn't do."
"Who's going to be married?"
"I am."
Branch started to his feet once more, his mouth fell open. "You?
Nonsense!" When she nodded, his face darkened. "Who is he? Some Cuban,
I'll bet—one of these greasers."
"It is poor Esteban."
"'Poor Esteban'! Damn it, they're all poor. That's the very reason he asked you. He's after your money."
"He didn't ask me. I asked him. He's—dying, Leslie." There was a pause. "I'm going to marry him and take him home, where he can get well."