Mrs. Harding glances through the clipping and hands it back with a quizzical smile.
"So you are the prominent and gallant member of the Cuban revolutionary society referred to?" she infers.
"Not so loud!" cautions Don Manada. "We may be overheard. What think you of the voyage now, senora?"
"I fear it is a bit too dangerous," replies Isabel, with a yawn. "We should never reach Cuba."
"Trust me," assents Don Manada, complacently. "Once on the high seas, the Isabel will lead the Spanish warships a pretty chase."
"Ah, the name of your schooner is the Isabel?"
"Of our yacht—yes. Is it not happily named?"
"Perhaps so," answers Mrs. Harding, with an enigmatic expression in her lustrous eyes. "And where should I find your yacht in case I should at the last moment decide to accept your offer of a merry voyage to the tropics?"
"My yacht? I should conduct you to it," says Don Manada in some surprise.
"Oh, no; that would not do," objects Isabel. "I should be driven to it veiled just preceding its departure."
Don Manada looks around the arcade, but there is no one within twenty feet of their table.
"North river, foot of 23d street," he whispers. "You will go?" as Isabel appears to be hesitating mid conflicting emotions.
"You will promise not to make love to me during the entire voyage?"
"I will promise anything, senora, though you have imposed an unhappy obligation."
"Then I think I will say—yes."
"Bueno!" cries the delighted Don Manada, and, seizing Isabel's hand, he covers it with passionate kisses.
"Oh, by the way, what time do you sail?"
"At 5 o'clock."
"Very well. I will send final word to your hotel in the morning. Now, leave me to dream over my folly,"
