“By no means, señorita,” he promptly confessed. “It has been a land of many troubles. In recent years, however, under our good president, there has been great advancement. Sometimes when far from home I dream of it. I hear the songs of my country.” He began strumming the guitar. The air was a soft, sweet one, and Inza listened, keenly pleased by it. Not so Elsie. She had been growing more and more restless. Finally she leaned toward Inza, breathing in a low tone these words: “He’s going to sing. I can’t stay here and listen. Excuse me, Inza, but I must go if he sings.” A moment later Del Norte began to sing, and he was not aware that Elsie Bellwood rose and slipped softly and quietly away. He sang in Spanish, his voice being remarkably clear and sympathetic. Understanding a little Spanish, Inza soon divined that he was singing a love song. She saw him lean toward her, and felt his dark eyes upon her. Anchored at various distances about them were other yachts, and to the girl it seemed that on board all these the people paused to listen. A small rowboat had been passing with clanking oars; but now the oars were silent and the boat was drifting, while its occupant sat perfectly still. Finally the song ended, and Del Norte remained quite motionless, still gazing at Inza with those deep, dark eyes of his. She laughed with pleasure and clapped her hands softly. “Very fine, señor,” she said. “You are a very fine singer. But I confess I don’t know what it was all about.” “Do you wish me to tell you?” he murmured. Suddenly she realized that they were on dangerous ground. “I think not,” she answered quickly. “I will have more pleasure in guessing at its meaning.” “Señorita, as I sang that song I thought of you and I thousands of miles away, far down in my own country. I have seen beautiful maidens in Mexico, but never one quite your equal—Inza!” Instantly she straightened up a little, and her voice was cold and full of reproof as she said: “Señor del Norte, only my most intimate friends call me by my Christian name. We’ve not yet known each other a whole week.” “I beg your pardon!” he exclaimed, with apparent humbleness and regret. “The name slipped from my lips before I knew what I was saying. It’s such a beautiful name. You don’t know, but all alone by myself I have repeated it over a hundred times. Of course, you can’t object if I keep saying it to myself—Inza! Inza! Inza!” “I fear, señor, that you are like most men—you fancy every girl you meet is smitten on you. You will find that American girls are not the sort who fall in love with every stranger with fine teeth, and eyes, and polished manners.” “I accept the reproof, señorita. I presume I deserve it, still I can’t repress my feelings. We people from the South differ from you of the North. You are able to hide your real emotions behind a placid exterior. Just as you live in houses to keep out the cold, you train yourselves to live in bodies that hide your real natures.”