The Return from the Fiesta

"It is very pretty," Clare said while they waited. "I wish we could make
our patio like this."

"We may be able to do so when Brandon and his friends bring us the
water," Kenwardine replied with a quick glance at the girl. "Have you
seen him recently?"

"Not for three or four weeks," said Clare.

There was nothing to be learned from her face, but Kenwardine noted a
hint of coldness in her voice. Next moment, however, a stout lady in a
black dress, and a thin, brown-faced Spaniard came down to meet them.
Kenwardine presented Clare, and for a time they sat on a balcony, talking
in a mixture of French and Castilian. Then a man came up the outside
staircase and took off his hat as he turned to Kenwardine. He had a
swarthy skin, but Clare carelessly remarked that the hollows about his
eyes were darker than the rest of his face, as if they had been
overlooked in a hurried wash, and his bare feet were covered with fine,
black dust.

"Don Martin waits you, señor," he said.

Kenwardine excused himself to his hostess, and after promising to return
before long went away with the man.

"Who is Don Martin, and does he own the coaling wharf?" Clare asked.

"No," said the Spaniard. "What makes you imagine so?"

"There was some coal-dust on his messenger."

The Spaniard laughed. "Your eyes are as keen as they are bright,
señorita, but your father spoke of business and he does not deal in
coal. They use it for the engine at the sugar mill."