They rode together in the cool of the morning; they drove together on the Malecon in the cool of the evening; chaperoned by Don Juan Cafetéro and a grinning Sobrantean, they went shark-fishing in Leber's launch; they played dominoes together; they discussed, throughout the long, lazy, quiet afternoons, when the remainder of their world retired for the siesta, books, art, men, women, and things.
And not once, throughout those two weeks of camaraderie, did the heart-racked Webster forget for a single instant that he was the new friend, destined to become the old friend; never, to the girl's watchful eyes, did he betray the slightest disposition to establish their friendly relations on a closer basis.
Thus did the arrival of The Day find them. Toward sunset they rode out together along the bay shore and noted far out to sea the smear of smoke that marked the approach of La Estrellita--on schedule time. As they jogged homeward in the dusk, her red and green side-lights were visible as she crept into the harbour; above the sobbing murmur of the Caribbean wavelets they heard the scream of her winches and the rattle of chain as her anchor bit the bottom.
“You will go aboard her to-night,” Webster said very quietly to Dolores.
“I shall go aboard with you. I have arranged with Don Juan for him to stay ashore and to come out in Leber's launch with the first reliable news of the conflict. If Ricardo wins the city, he wins the revolution, and you and I will then go ashore--to dine with him in the palace. If he loses the city, he loses the revolution, and we will both do well to remain aboard _La Estrellita_.”
“And in that event, what will become of my brother?”
“I do not know; I forgot to ask him, but if he survives, I imagine he'll have sense enough to know he's whipped and will retreat on San Bruno, fighting a rear-guard action, embark aboard the steamer that brought his men there, and escape.”
“Two hundred of them are white soldiers of fortune--and you must remember how Walker manhandled Nicaragua with that number of men.”
“I have asked Mother Jenks to dine with us at seven-thirty this evening, and have ordered a carriage to call for her. When she comes I'll tell her everything; then, if she wishes to stay ashore, let her. She's been through more than one such fracas and doesn't mind them at all, I dare say.”