He left the fiery little Panamanian still scowling and muttering threats, and went his way wondering vaguely how his attentions to Chiquita had become so quickly known. He was informed later in the afternoon.
As he left the office for the day he was handed a note from Mrs. Cortlandt requesting him to call at once, and, summoning a coach, he was driven directly to her house. Unlike the Garavel home, the house which the Cortlandts had leased was set upon the water-front, its rear balcony overlooking the sea where it lapped the foundation of the city wall. It was a delightful old place, shut off from the street by a yard filled with flowering plants and shrubs, and, though flanked in true Spanish fashion by stores and shops, it was roomy and comfortable.
Edith kept him waiting a moment before she descended, dressed for her afternoon ride.
"You see, I haven't given up my horse in spite of your neglect," she said, as she gave him her hand, "You got my note?"
"Yes, and I came straight from the office."
"I suppose you know what it is about and are wondering how I heard the news."
"What news?"
"Your 'engagement.'" She laughed with an amusement that did not ring quite true.
"You're the second one to speak about that. I'm not engaged."
"Of course not. Don't think for a moment I believed it. I was calling on some Spanish people this afternoon and heard the report—I admit it was a shock. When I learned the details I knew at once you ought to be told before it developed into something embarrassing. Come into the other room; there is a breeze from the water." She led him into the parlor, from which the open windows, shielded now by drawn shutters, gave egress to the rear porch with its chairs and hammock.