O'Reilly's hesitation became an embarrassed silence. He tried to laugh it off.
"There is, otherwise I'd stay right here and tell my penurious friends to whistle for their profits. It seems I'm cursed with a fatal beauty. You may have noticed it? No? Well, perhaps it's a magnificent business ability that I have. Anyhow, the president of my company has a notion that I'd make him a good son-in-law."
"I—Oh!" cried Rosa.
And at her tone O'Reilly hurried on:
"These rich men have the most absurd ideas. I suppose I'll have to—"
"Then you are in love, senor?"
The young man nodded vigorously. "Indeed I am—with the sweetest girl in Cuba. That's the whole trouble. That's why I'm hurrying home to resign before I'm fired." Not daring to look too long or too deeply into Rosa Varona's eyes until she had taken in the whole truth, he waited, staring at his feet. "I'm sort of glad it has come to a show-down and I can speak out. I'm hoping she'll miss me." After a moment he ventured, "Will she—er—will you, Rosa?"
"I? Miss you?" Rosa lifted her brows in pretended amazement. Then she tipped her head daintily to one side, as if weighing his question earnestly. "You are amusing, of course, but—I won't have much time to think about you, for I am so soon to be married."
"Married? WHAT?" O'Reilly started violently, and the girl exclaimed, with well-feigned concern:
"Oh, senor! You have wounded yourself again on that thorn-bush. This place is growing up to brambles."