“Shall we be confined to our rooms and kept incomunicado, while Dr. Pruyn chases the terrified germ through the streets of Caracuña?” queried the irrepressible Polly.
“You’ll probably have to move to the legation, where you will be very welcome, but none too comfortable. The place has been practically closed and sealed for two months.”
“I’m sure we should bother you dreadfully,” said the girl.
“It would bother me more dreadfully if you got into any trouble. Just this morning there was some kind of an affair on a street car in which some Americans were involved.”
Miss Polly’s countenance was a design—a very dainty and ornamental design—in insouciance as her father said:—
“Americans? Any one we have met?”
“No news has come to me. I understand one of the diplomatic corps, returning from the President’s matinée, spoke to an American woman, and an American man interfered.”
“When did this happen?” asked Carroll.
“About noon. Inquiries are going on quietly.”
The young man directed a troubled and accusing look from his fine eyes upon Miss Brewster.