"Who served and adored their ladies!" I added.
She glanced about at her uncle, who was entering through the middle room.
"Madre de los Dolores!" she called. "These physicians! Pray, reassure him, my uncle. He is convinced I shall suffer a chill."
"Not after the precautions I have taken," I rejoined with professional gravity as I rose. "The wonder is that Señorita Vallois has so long survived the sudden changes of our seaboard climate. I know little of temperatures abroad, but on this side of the Atlantic these thin Empire gowns are sheer murder."
"Granted," replied the señor. "Yet as a physician you have doubtless long since learned the futility of arguing the cut or material of a gown with a woman."
"Only too well, señor! Fortunately every day will now carry us both nearer a milder climate and nearer the Summer. Your chests are all aboard?"
"All. And yours, señor?"
"Mine will be waiting on the wharf at Pittsburg. We will put in for it as we drift past."
"It is well," he replied. I moved toward the outer door. "A moment, if you please, doctor. We voyage together many leagues. Among my friends I am addressed as Don Pedro."
"And I as Alisanda," added the señorita gayly. Her uncle raised his brows, but said nothing. She called toward the inner door, "Chita!—Chita!"