As his eyes met hers, Vickers cursed Ascencion in his heart for having instilled her suspicions into his mind, for it seemed to him that the lovely Rosita had never languished quite so openly upon him before. The thought affected the cordiality of his manner. His greeting was formal. Then seeing that she looked hurt, and reflecting that, if she had given her friends the notion that he was hers for the asking, it was very hard to be contradicted by his manner, he sprang forward and led her away to dance. Soon afterward, having surrendered her to another partner, he found himself standing beside her father, and never at a loss for a pleasant word he observed that the señorita was undoubtedly the handsomest girl he had ever seen, and how did any one support the responsibility of having such a pretty daughter? The old gentleman smiled. “It is not a responsibility which I look forward to supporting very much longer, Don Luis.” “Oh, I suppose not,” said Vickers, and he thought with some annoyance of the good-looking native for whose destruction the party had been planned. “You give me,” went on the other, “an opportunity of saying what has long been in my mind. You know, Don Luis, that many of my countrymen are not friendly to the North Americans. I do not share the prejudice.” Vickers bowed in his most florid manner. “I felt sure of that, sir, when you did me the honor of accepting my invitation for this evening.” “Yes,” said the other thoughtfully, “the acceptance was as significant as the invitation itself.” The phrase struck Vickers disagreeably, but he bowed again, and prepared to move away, but the old man stopped him. “I was glad it should be so, Don Luis,” he said. “There is no one to whom I should more trustfully confide my daughter’s future. I am sufficiently Americanized to believe that marriages of the heart are the best marriages. My wife cries out for a man of our own country, but I say, ‘No, let the hearts of our children speak.’ I do not mind telling you that the heart of the little Rosita _has_ spoken. Her mother has not the pleasure to know you, Don Luis, but we must alter that, we must alter that.” He smiled up at Vickers and perhaps saw something written upon his countenance, for he added hastily: “Perhaps I mistake your sentiments. I have been warned that it is the habit of your countrymen to engage a young lady’s affections and to ride away. But I can not think that of you, my friend. I can not believe that I have mistaken your sentiments.” “Oh, my sentiments,--not a bit,” said Vickers hastily. Even in English he might have found himself at a loss for the right word in which to decline an offer of marriage, but in Spanish, well as he knew the language, he floundered hopelessly. “My sentiments are as I told you, that the señorita is the most adorable young lady in the world, but----”