Presently Kenwardine picked out an envelope with a British stamp from among the rest and turned it over before inserting a knife behind the flap, which yielded easily, as if the gum had lost its strength. Then he took out the letter and smiled with ironical amusement. If it had been read by any unauthorized person before it reached him, the reader would have been much misled, but it told him what he wanted to know. There was one word an Englishman or American would not have used, though a Teuton might have done so, but Kenwardine thought a Spaniard would not notice this, even if he knew English well. The other letters were not important, and he glanced at his daughter. Clare was not wearing well. She had lost her color and got thin. The climate was enervating, and Englishwomen who stayed in the country long felt it more than men, but this did not quite account for her jaded look. "I am afraid you are feeling the hot weather, and perhaps you have been indoors too much," he said. "I must try to take you about more when I come back." "Then you are going away! Where to?" Kenwardine would have preferred to hide his destination, but since this would be difficult it seemed safer not to try and there was no reason why his household should not know. "To Jamaica. I have some business in Kingston, but it won't keep me long." "Can you take me?" "I think not," said Kenwardine, who knew his visit would be attended by some risk. "For one thing, I'll be occupied all the time, and as I must get back as soon as possible, may have to travel by uncomfortable boats. You will be safe with Lucille." "Oh, yes," Clare agreed with languid resignation. "Still, I would have liked a change." Kenwardine showed no sign of yielding and she said nothing more. She had chosen to live with him, and although she had not known all that the choice implied, must obey his wishes. For all that, she longed to get away. It had cost her more than she thought to refuse Dick, and she felt that something mysterious and disturbing was going on. Kenwardine's carelessness had not deceived her; she had watched him when he was off his guard and knew that he was anxious. "You don't like Santa Brigida?" he suggested. "Well, if things go as I hope, I may soon be able to sell out my business interests and leave the country. Would that please you?" Clare's eyes sparkled with satisfaction. Now there was a prospect of its ending, she could allow herself to admit how repugnant the life she led had grown. She had hated the gambling, and although this had stopped, the mystery and hidden intrigue that followed it were worse. If her father gave it all up, they need no longer be outcasts, and she could live as an English girl ought to do. Besides, it would be easier to forget Dick Brandon when she went away. "Would we go back to England?" she asked eagerly.