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The sun was so low that the gentlest elevation cast its grey shadow miles into the green-gold sea of sunshine. That evening ears were quicker than eyes. The Mexican held up a tawny finger to still the scraping of tin against tin. "One waggeen," said he, "cross dthe Arroyo Hondo. Ah hear dthe wheel. Verree rockee place, dthe Hondo." "You've got good ears, Gregorio," said Mustang Taylor.
"You air not Frainch?" he asks with a scrutinising side glance out of his fine eyes. "I am happy to say that I am an American, and so are my ancestors for three hundred years." "Naixt to dthe Frainch, dthe American ladies air most beautiful, charmante and clevair, but you haf chic, and more dthings; you might be angry I vould say.
If I could tell you all in Spanish you must believe," and before all the people in the Plaza he lifts the hand that lies on his arm and kisses it. I flash a horrified look around, but no one seems to have noticed. "Like you dthe Spanish tongue?" he asks quite unconcerned. "Yes, very much," I say, glad to get him on some impersonal subject, "it is the most musical in the world, I believe."
"I forgif you," he says, as a child repeats a lesson. "And we must be friends again, nicht wahr?" I hold out my hand. "No, Señorita." He takes the hand, but shakes his head. "No!" I echo; "why not?" "Because I haf nefer been your friend. I haf always loaf you, I haf forget vhat it vas like not to loaf you. It ees true you vere scarce polite about dthe reading. I did not know I bore you.
"As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be!" sings the choir, and Miss Rogers' clear voice lingers in the "Amen." As I walk the deck with the Baron that evening he tells me about his lovely sister, "Alvida," and about Peruvian customs. "My sister ees dthe most beautiful voman in Peru; she haf many suitors, but she ees nefer allow to see dthem except when dthe family air vidth her.
"Good-morning," I say, observing how white and heavy-eyed he looks in the sunlight. "Yes, thank you, we've slept well," says Mrs. Steele, "too well, I'm afraid." "Oh, no, belief me, dthis extra train ees better." "You look ill, Baron; how did you sleep?" "Dthank you, I sleep not at all till yust dthe time to rise dtherefore am I late. If your dthings air ready ve vill start at once."
Steele is joined by Señor Noma, and the Baron urges me to come a little further away from the light "ve can see dthe yelly fishes viel besser." I move away unsuspectingly out of the shine of the ship's lanterns, and the Baron, folding his arms on the railing beside me, begins quite low to recite a Spanish sonnet, liquid, musical, impassioned.
I see the admiration in Baron de Bach's face. "You like that type?" I ask. "It ees part of dthe landscape," he answers; "ve like it in dthe picture. Ve put more deeferent vomans in our hearts and homes." "H'm!" coughs Mrs. Steele. "My dear, the boatman is coming back with a huge bunch of cocoanuts." "Yes," the Baron says, "I dthought you vould like to taste dthe milk."
"Zo, Señorita, dthough you go far nordthvard dthe Inca's eye from Peru ees still upon you; I haf send him to take care off ... dthe pearl. Gude-bye Gude-bye, Madame!" The tall figure turns away, and in a moment is gone. "Why, Blanche, what is the matter?" Mrs. Steele's voice is sharp with concern. I try to smile and instinctively my hand goes to my tightened throat. "My poor child, do you care?"
He carries her chair about until a place is discovered sufficiently sheltered from the sun and yet not too cold; he puts all our wraps and rugs on and about "Madame," who watches him with quiet amusement until I ask: "And now, pray, what am I to do for a rug?" "You need not a rug; you vill valk dthe deck, vill you not?"
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