says Mrs. Harding, disengaging the hand which Don Manada still tenderly holds.
Then, as the latter goes off to the wine-room to submerge his happiness in champagne, Isabel leans back in her chair and laughs softly. "The fool," she sneers. "Well, all men are fools—all but one."
"And that one?" inquires a voice behind her. She looks up startled, to meet the calm gaze of a man of perhaps 50, with dark hair and mustache slightly tinged with gray and the distinct air of a soldier.
"Ah, who but yourself?" returns Isabel composedly. "Sit down, Gen. Murillo. I have much to tell you."
The intelligence is plainly of a pleasing nature. Gen. Murillo murmurs "Bueno!" more than once as he listens, and when she finishes he remarks approvingly: "You have done well and may count on my gratitude."
"Gracias," responds Isabel. "That is about the extent of my Spanish, General."
"Ah, but you will learn readily. It is simple. Hist! a gentleman approaches. It were well if we be seen little together to-night. Until the morrow then, adios."
Gen. Murillo moves off toward the swirl of dancers and Isabel surveys with an air of recognition a gentleman in the costume of Don Caesar de Bazan, who has descended to the arcade by the north stairway and is coming slowly toward her. Don Caesar looks curiously after the departing form of the Spaniard; then, dropping into a chair beside Isabel, he tosses off his mask and asks carelessly: "Well, my dear Isabel, when do you leave for Cuba?"
"For Cuba?" repeats Mrs. Harding in simulated surprise.
"Exactly. After a glance at the gentleman who just left you I do not need to be enlightened as to the diplomatic duties to which you alluded last night."
"Well, Phillip, I have few secrets that you do not share," Isabel says sweetly; "I leave for Cuba to-morrow."
"So soon," he murmurs courteously.
"The sooner the better. Every day I am near you
