"There are a number. The Martinezes, the Moras, the Garavels--I couldn't name them all. They are very fine people, too." "Do you know the Chiquitas?" Cortlandt's face relaxed in an involuntary smile. "There is no such family. Who has been teaching you Spanish?" "Really, isn't there?" "'Chiquita' means 'very small,' 'little one,' 'little girl,' or something like that. It's not a family name, it's a term of endearment, usually." Kirk remembered now how the girl's eyes had danced when she asked him if he spoke her language. It was just like her to tease him, and yet what a pretty way to conceal her identity! "What made you take it for a proper name?" "A-a little girl told me." "Oh, naturally. All children are 'Chiquitas' or 'Chiquitos'--everything, in fact, that is a pet." Kirk felt somewhat uncomfortable under the older man's gaze of quiet amusement. "But these other families," he went on in some confusion--"I mean the ones like those you just mentioned--they sometimes intermarry with Americans, don't they?" "No, not the better class. There have been a few instances, I believe, but for the most part they keep to themselves." "How would a fellow set about meeting the nice people." "He wouldn't. He would probably live here indefinitely and never see the inside of a Panamanian house." "But there must be some way," the young man exclaimed in desperation. "There must be dances, parties--" "Of course, but Americans are not invited. The men are easy to get acquainted with, charming, courteous, gentlemanly, but I dare say you will leave Panama without so much as meeting their wives or sisters. But why this consuming curiosity? Has some senorita struck your fancy?" In spite of his effort to appear unconcerned, Kirk felt that he looked abominably self-conscious. Without waiting for a reply, Cortlandt continued to give him information as if he enjoyed it. "I suppose one reason why so few Americans marry Panamanians is that our men like at least to get acquainted with their brides before marriage, and that is impossible in this country. A man never sees a girl alone, you know. When he calls to court her he wooes the whole family, who vote on him, so to speak. That doesn't appeal to us who originated the mother-in-law joke. There aren't many Northern chaps who would consent to select a wife by pointing her out like a bolt of calico on a top shelf." Kirk suddenly realized to the full how egregious his request to call must have appeared to the Spanish girl. What a fool he had been, to be sure! For a moment he lost himself in a contemplation of the difficulties so unexpectedly presented. He was brought to himself by the words: "--to-morrow you will go to work." "What's that?" he broke forth in a panic. "I can't go to work to-morrow; I'm going hunting." Cortlandt eyed him curiously.