"I'm not asking for sympathy; and I mustn't keep you from the trout. Go and catch as many as you can. It must be nice to feel that you have only to pick up a fishing-rod and be young again."

She walked to the gate with him, but Cliffe stopped when they reached it, for a big automobile was lurching down the uneven road. The mud splashed about the car indicated distance traveled at furious speed, but it slowed at the bend near the gate, and Cliffe sighed as he recognized Robinson.

"I guess this stops my fishing," he said in a resigned tone. Dropping his rod and creel, he jumped on to the footboard as the driver cautiously took the gate, and Evelyn smiled as the car rolled up the drive. She was sorry that her father had lost his favorite sport, but his prompt surrender of it was characteristic. He was first of all a man of business.

"Wired for an auto' to meet me when I left the train," Robinson told him. "It was raining pretty hard, and they don't do much grading on these mountain roads, but I made the fellow rush her along as fast as he could." He took some letters from his wallet. "Read these and think them over while I get breakfast."

Half an hour afterward they sat in a corner of the veranda, where Mrs.

Willans' guests left them alone. These quiet, intent men of affairs obviously did not belong to their world.

"Well?" Robinson said.

"One of two things has got to be done; there's no middle course."

Robinson nodded.

"That's true. Middle courses generally lead to nothing."

"Very well. We can cut out our deal with President Altiera, lose the money we have spent, and let the concessions go; or we can pay up again, hang on, and put the matter through."

"What's your opinion? The fellow asks for more."

"Do you mean to be guided by me?"

"Yes," Robinson said. "Take which you think is the right line; I'll stand in."

"It's pretty hard to see. We'll make good if we get the concessions; but the President's up against a bigger thing than he thought. It's going to cost him and us some money to head off the revolutionists, but if we don't drop out right now, we've got to brace up and put it over.

Well, as I'm fixed, it's a big risk. My money's making good interest, and if I go on, I've got to sell out stock I meant to hold. A set-back would be a serious thing for me. I want a few minutes to think it over."

Robinson had confidence in Cliffe's integrity and judgment.

"An hour, if you like," he said; "then we'll have to pull out, whatever you decide."

For a long while Cliffe sat silent with knitted brows. His wife made claims upon his means that he sometimes found it hard to satisfy; and it was his ambition that his daughter should be rich. After carefully pondering the letters, he saw that he might be involved in a conflict with forces whose strength he could not estimate, and defeat would cost him the fruit of several years' labor. Yet the prize to be won was tempting, and he could take a risk. Besides, they already had put a good deal of money into it.

"Well," he said at last, "I've made up my mind."

"To hold on, I guess," Robinson suggested with a smile.

"That's so," Cliffe answered in a quiet voice. "What's more, I'm going out to look into things myself. We can talk it over on the way to town.

I'll be ready as soon as I've told my wife."

Robinson took out his watch.

"Give you half an hour if we're to catch the train," he said.

Cliffe met Evelyn in the broad hall, and told her that he would have to go south at once.

"Take me with you, won't you?" she begged. "I want to get away from Banner's Post."

Cliffe hesitated a moment.

"Why, yes," he then said; "I see no reason why you shouldn't go--particularly as your mother means to stay with Margaret Willans."

When, a half hour later, the car started from the bottom of the steps and Mrs. Cliffe turned away with a wave of her hand, Evelyn stood in the drive, asking herself bluntly why she wished to accompany her father. A longing for change had something to do with it; she was getting tired of an aimless and, in a sense, uneventful life, for it was true that occupations that had once been full of pleasurable excitement had begun to pall. But this was not her only object. Grahame was somewhere on the coast she meant to visit, and she might meet him. Evelyn admitted with a blush that she would like to do so.

The next morning a telegram arrived from Cliffe, directing her to join him in town, and ten days later she stood, at evening, on a balcony of the Hotel International, in Havana. It was getting dark, but a few lamps were lighted in the _patio_, and the moonlight touched one white wall.

The air was hot and heavy, and filled with exotic smells, and the sound of alien voices gave Evelyn the sense of change and contrast she had sought. Yet she knew that, so far, the trip had been a failure. It had not banished her restlessness; Havana was as stale as New York. She remembered with regret how different it had been on her first visit.

Grahame and his companion had been with her then, and she knew that she missed them.

She turned as a man came out on the balcony that ran along the end of the house. He did not look like a Cuban, and she started when the moonlight fell upon him, for she saw that it was Grahame. He was making for the stairs at the corner where the two balconies joined and did not notice her. Evelyn realized that, as she wore a white dress, her figure would be indistinct against the wall, and, if she did not move in the next few moments, he would go down the stairs and disappear among the people in the _patio_. If he had meant to enter the hotel, he would not have come that way.

She felt that if she let him go they might not meet again. After all, this might be wiser. Yet her heart beat fast, and she thrilled with a strange excitement as she stood irresolute, knowing that the choice she had to make would be momentous.

Grahame reached the top of the stairs without turning, and was going down when she leaned over the bal.u.s.trade. She did not consciously decide upon the action; it was as if something had driven her into making it.

"Mr. Grahame!" she called softly.

He looked up with the moonlight on his face and she saw the gleam she had expected in his eyes. Then he came swiftly toward her, and her indecision vanished when she gave him her hand.

"This is a remarkably pleasant surprise, but I didn't see you until you spoke," he said. "Have you just come out of one of the rooms?"

"No; I've been here some time. I saw you as soon as you appeared on the balcony."

Grahame gave her a quick look, and she knew he was wondering why she had waited until the last moment. He was shrewd enough to see that the delay had some significance, but this did not matter.

"Well," he said, "I'm glad you didn't let me pa.s.s, because I was going out into the street, and it's doubtful if I'd have come back."

"Yes," said Evelyn; "I seemed to know that."

He was silent for a moment, but his expression was intent and a faint glow of color showed in his brown face. Evelyn let him make what he liked of her admission. She had not been influenced by coquetry, but by a feeling that it was a time for candor.

"I was thinking about an interview I'd just finished--that is why I didn't look round," he explained. "I came from Matanzas this afternoon."

"Then the _Enchantress_ isn't here?"

"No; she's at Matanzas, but I can't get back to-night. Will you be here long?"

"A day or two, waiting for a boat. I wonder whether you would stay and dine with us this evening?" Then a thought struck Evelyn, and she added: "That is, if it isn't undesirable for you to be seen here."

She had not expected him to hesitate and was prepared for his reckless twinkle.

"Of course I'll stay! But did you mean--if it was not unsafe?"

"I suppose I did," she admitted with a smile. "You know I helped you in a mysterious plot the last time I was here. Now it would be selfish of me to ask you to wait if you think you'd better not."

"There's no risk worth counting, and I'd take it if there was. When you have a temperament like mine it's hard to deny yourself a pleasure."

"I shouldn't have thought you self-indulgent," Evelyn smiled.