Next morning Harding also drove back to Santa Marta and purchased clothing, apparently for himself, so that when his new assistants made their appearance there was nothing about them that was likely to excite anybody’s curiosity; while the doctor who dressed Appleby’s foot was allowed to surmise that it had been injured in the crushing mill. He had, it was suspected, liberationist sympathies, so that it was of no great importance that he was not quite convinced. Appleby, being installed as general manager, showed a facility of comprehension and an administrative ability that would probably have astonished any one who had not Harding’s talent for handling men; and when some little time had passed the latter left him in charge without misgivings while he made a business visit to New York. As he purposed to return promptly he also left his daughter with the wife of the Spanish banker at Santa Marta, and it was about that time the Alcalde of the latter place gave a ball to celebrate certain successes of the Spanish arms. The Sin Verguenza had disappeared, and there was at least every outward sign of tranquillity in that district. That was how it came about that Appleby and Miss Harding, who had seen a good deal of each other in the meanwhile sat out in the moonlight on a veranda of the Alcalde’s house overlooking the patio. It was filled with flowers, and in place of the Sin Verguenza’s revelry the tinkle of guitars, swish of costly dresses, light patter of feet, and decorous laughter came out from the open windows that blazed with light. Nettie Harding was also now attired as became her station, and the soft shimmer of pearls emphasized the whiteness of her neck. Still, she remembered the last time she had entered that patio, and a faint tinge of color came into her cheek as her eyes rested for a moment on the veranda above them. As it happened, Appleby, without intending it, met her eyes a moment later, and each realized what the other’s thoughts were. The man turned his head suddenly, but he felt he could not gaze across the patio indefinitely, and when he looked round again he saw the girl had laid her fan upon her knee and was regarding him curiously. “There is a difference, is there not?” she said. Appleby sat still, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, and wondering what was expected of him, though he was not altogether astonished, because he knew Nettie Harding’s spirit. “Yes,” he said. “The place is a good deal prettier now. These folks have quite an artistic taste, you know.” The girl laughed softly. “Oh yes. Still, do you never come out of your shell? We, as you may have noticed, are rather fond of doing so, and at least occasionally say what we think.” Appleby hoped he appeared unconcerned, for, though he knew Miss Harding could be daring, he could not quite decide whether she had quite understood the position on that eventful night, and hoped she had not.