“Peter Smith.”
“Your religion?”
“The Christian, señora.”
“Your profession?”
“An ensign in H. E. I. Company’s Navy.”
Not satisfied with such authentic details, the inquisitive old lady began a regular system of cross-questioning, and so diligently did she pursue it, that we had some difficulty to prevent contradicting ourselves. At length, when she had, as she supposed, thoroughly mastered the subject, she requested us to step into a corridor, and to dispose of ourselves upon a three-legged stool. This we did, leaning gracefully against the whitewashed wall, and looking stedfastly at the open grating. Presently, a wrinkled old countenance, with a skin more like a walnut’s than a woman’s, peered through the bars, grinned at us, and disappeared. Then came half-a-dozen juveniles, at the very least, tittering and whispering most diligently, all of which we endured with stoical firmness, feeling that the end of such things was approaching.
At last, a sixteen-year old face gradually drew within sight from behind the bars. That was clearly one of the young ladies. Now for it.—
“Good day, and my respects to you, senorita!”
“The same to you, sir.”
Hem! It is rather a terrible thing to make love under such circumstances. The draw upon one’s imagination in order to open the dialogue, is alone sufficient to frighten Cupid out of the field. It was impossible to talk of the weather, in that country where it burns, deluges, and chills with the regularity of clock-work. So we plunged at once in medias res.