"At least," I said, with a twinkle in my eyes, "it would have saved Sangatte's good looks." Then I bent forward and gently kissed those soft, sorrowful lips that I loved so well.
"Mercia," I said, "I know what you are thinking about this money of Prado's. I know that it was wrung and tortured out of your father's friends and followers, and that you would starve rather than benefit in any way by their sufferings."
"Yes, yes," she whispered; "I knew you would understand."
"Dearest," I said gently, "we will take it as a trust—you and I and Billy. God knows how much misery and suffering Prado caused, but over in Bolivia there's gold enough to undo even his work. It was Manuel Solano who saved San Luca: it shall be Solano's daughter who will save her again."
With a little cry of joy, Mercia seized my hand, and before I could stop her, raised it to her lips.
It took me at least five minutes to satisfy myself that this incorrect procedure had been properly atoned for.
THE END