"What's that?" asked Wright, as we went into the living-room. "Lord, you lucky people, what a wonderful house!" "Isn't it?" I said, and then, answering the question, "A mutual platform of Liberty, Independence and--" "Love!" said Wright, triumphantly. "How did you guess it?" asked Bill, following his guest. I laughed, a little hysterically, and bade Bill show Wright to his room. After which, with a sense of having scored, I waited for the men near the dining-table, luncheon having been announced. "We're late today," I said, as we all sat down. "I postponed the sacred meal a little to allow you to arrive." "It's only one-thirty," objected Wright, looking at his watch. "I know, but one does things differently in Guayabal," I said, explaining our usual routine. "Some life!" said the newly initiated. "Suits me. Let's stay on here forever. I imagine," he went on, turning to include us both in his remark, "that nothing could have been more perfect for the _lune de miel_." Bill was silent, but I agreed hastily. "And now tell us about Santiago," I said. The recital occupied most of the conversational part of the meal pleasantly enough. "See my pretty senoritas?" asked Bill, passing the cigarettes. "Cuban?" inquired Wright, taking one. "That's good--I've developed a passion for them. No, not a senorita. All I saw were at least ninety and weighed a ton." "I've got just the girl for you!" said Bill and I, simultaneously. Wright laughed. "The same one?" he asked, with interest. "No, our tastes differ," I answered, "the one I have in mind is little and round and brown-haired. She's delightful." "And mine," said Bill, "is just the right height, just the right shape, and as dark-haired and creamy-skinned as a Spanish princess. She is half Spanish, too, which means--temperament." "Very interesting," said Wright. "Bring 'em both on. But I like amber-colored hair and brown eyes myself. Did you corner the market on the combination, Bill?" "Of course," answered Bill gravely, "there aren't two like Mavis. That mould was broken." "Lucky for me," agreed Wright, sighing. "I want to stay a carefree bachelor. I'm susceptible enough, Lord knows,--and very guileless. But my appearance protects me, as well as a certain modesty, not to say timidity, of manner. I've not your looks, nor your way with the wimmin, you handsome bridegroom," he concluded affectionately, smiling at Bill. "Do tell me," I asked, leaning back in my great, carved chair, quite conscious that it served as an effective background for my hair, "about Bill's past. I can't get a word out of him on the subject." There was a spark of admiration in the glance Bill shot me--an involuntary tribute.