As he spoke, both girls nodded to a man who bowed low as he passed them and entered the open door of the hotel. Larkin, following the direction of their glances, stopped short. A puzzled expression came into his face.
"Pardon me," he said quickly, "may I ask you the name of the gentleman who bowed to you?"
"That? Oh, that's Señor Bellardo," replied Wynnie carelessly. "He's a Spaniard, I believe, travelling for his health, but he speaks English very nicely. Have you met him?"
"There's something familiar about his face," mused Fred, "but I can't remember—a Spaniard, did you say, Miss Ethelwyn?"
"I think—yes, I know he is, for he alluded to his estates near Barcelona. That's in Spain, isn't it?"
"It certainly is," assented the war correspondent, "but that fellow—excuse me; that gentleman-looked more like a—well, I think the air of Tokio, or the pleasure of finding old friends here, must have gone to my head. So we'll let the Señor drop. You'll be surprised when I tell you of another friend of yours who arrived here this very day!"
"Oh, who is it? Tell us!" exclaimed the girls.
"Perhaps you've forgotten him," said Fred, with a sly glance at Wynnie. "I declare there he is, now! Hulloa, there! Ship ahoy!" he cried, beckoning to a trim-looking lad who was passing on the other side of the street.
"Why, it's Mr. Starr!" said Wynnie, with a gladness in her voice that proved she had not forgotten her companion of the Osprey banquet.
"Come up here, young man!" called out Larkin, rising from his seat. "I would have brought you here to-morrow, anyway, but my good intentions are frustrated by your untimely appearance."