In Miriam's company, Freeman forgot
every one save her,--even himself,--though
she certainly made no effort to attract him
or (beyond the commonplaces of courtesy)
to interest him. Consequently he had become
entirely oblivious of the existence of
such a person as Grace Parsloe, when, much
to his irritation, he heard the voice of that
young lady, mingled with others, approaching
along the veranda. At the same moment
he experienced acute regret at the
whim of fortune which had made himself
and that sprightly young lady fellow-
passengers from Panama, and at the idle impulse
which had prompted him to flirt with her.

But the past was beyond remedy: it was
his concern to deal with the present. In a
few seconds, Grace entered the curiosity-
room, followed by Professor Meschines, and
by a dashing young Mexican senor, whom
Freeman had met the previous evening, and
who was called Don Miguel de Mendoza.
The senor, to judge from his manner, had
already fallen violently in love with Grace,
and was almost dislocating his organs of
speech in the effort to pay her romantic
compliments in English. Freeman observed
this with unalloyed satisfaction. But the