Then I climbed aboard, to be immediately met by an effusive young woman and a handsome, dapper little gentleman, who wrung my hands and acted as though they were really very glad to see me.
CHAPTER XV.
THE EMBERS ARE STIRRED.
Hildegarde—strange how that name has always affected me, above all other names on earth—Hildegarde had immediately walked some little distance away upon reaching the deck of the yacht.
No doubt she felt the curious eyes of the royal Diana fastened upon her, and though I had known the time when this beauty had to be content with the rôle of second fiddle when Hildegarde was present, the latter seemed to shrink from facing her now.
Why was this?
Indeed, I could not guess, though half a dozen vague thoughts flashed through my racked brain.
Perhaps she had no reason to be proud of her presence in this Central American metropolis, and hotbed of revolution—perhaps things had happened of which I was utterly ignorant, but of which Diana must be cognizant. Perhaps—and here was the keenest rub of all, for it came as a personal blow—perhaps she was utterly ashamed to be seen in my company, after the manner in which I had once left her.
Well, I had no shame in the matter, and stood ready to do the thing over again if I might serve her.
When Thorpe had wrung my hand like a pump handle in his old, mechanical way, so characteristic of the fellow, who pretended to be a snob, yet was, at heart, a good chap, he began to bombard me with questions.