Anthony broke out in desperation: "Hold on! Let me explain! There's been an awful mistake."
"Mistake?" The tone was blandly incredulous.
"Yes. I'm not in love with Miss Torres."
Professor Jesus Herara stared at the speaker as if his mastery of the English language was, after all, incomplete. Torres, seeing that he was missing something, interpolated a smiling inquiry; then, as his interpreter made the situation clear, his honeyed smile froze, his sparkling eyes opened in bewilderment. He stared about the room again, as if doubting that he had come to the right place.
"There's really a mistake," Kirk persisted. "I don't even know Miss
Torres."
"Ah! Now I understand." The Professor was intensely relieved. "It is precisely for that purpose we arrived. Bueno! You admire from a distance, is it not so? You are struck with the lady's beauty; your heart is awakened. You are miserable. You pine away. You cannot find courage to speak. It is admirable, senor. We understand fully, and I, who know, assure you of her many virtues."
"No, it's nothing like that, either. I have no doubt Miss Torres is altogether charming, but—I—there's just a mistake, that's all. I'm not the least bit in love with her."
"But, senor! Is it not you who have stood beneath her window nightly? Is it not you who have laid siege to her these many days?" The speaker's eyes were glowing with anger as he turned to make his inquiry clear to the young lady's father.
Mr. Torres began to swell ominously.
"If you'll just let me explain. I'm in love with a young woman, true enough, but it doesn't happen to be Miss Torres. I thought it was, but it isn't."