has gone into the debt."

"No money of yours, no. But aren't you interested in it?" she
persisted.

This was rather odd. Could she know anything?

She drew nearer to me, and, laying a hand lightly on my arm, said
reproachfully:

"Do you love people, and yet not trust them, Mr. Martin?"

This was exactly my state of feeling toward the signorina, but I could
not say so. I was wondering how far I should be wise to trust her, and
that depended largely on how far his Excellency had seen fit to trust
her with my secrets. I finally said:

"Without disclosing other people's secrets, signorina, I may admit
that if anything went wrong with the debt my employers' opinion of my
discretion would be severely shaken."

"Of your _discretion_," she said, laughing. "Thank you, Mr. Martin.
And you would wish that not to happen?"

"I would take a good deal of pains to prevent its happening."

"Not less willingly if your interest and mine coincided?"

I was about to make a passionate reply when we heard the President's
voice saying:

"And where is our hostess? I should like to thank her before I go."

"Hush," whispered the signorina. "We must go back. You will be true to
me, Mr. Martin?"

"Call me Jack," said I idiotically.

"Then you will be true, O _Jack_?" she said, stifling a laugh.

"Till death," said I, hoping it would not be necessary.

She gave me her hand, which I kissed with fervor, and we returned to
the _salon_, to find all the players risen from the table and standing
about in groups, waiting to make their bows till the President had
gone through that ceremony. I was curious to hear if anything passed
between him and the signorina, but I was pounced upon by Donna
Antonia, the daughter of the minister of finance, who happened to be
present, notwithstanding the late hour, as a guest of the signorina's
for the night. She was a handsome young lady, a Spanish brunette of
the approved pattern, but with manners formed at a New York boarding
school, where she had undergone a training that had tempered, without
destroying, her native gentility. She had distinguished me very
favorably, and I was vain enough to suppose she honored me by some
jealousy of my _penchant_ for the signorina.

"I hope you have enjoyed yourself in the conservatory," she said
maliciously.

"We were talking business, Donna Antonia," I replied.

"Ah! business! I hear of nothing but business. There is papa gone down
to the country and burying