Then he
sealed it and shoved it into his pocket, with a sidelong glance of
satisfaction at me.
"Evidently Mr. Lockwood and the Senorita are on intimate terms,"
hazarded Kennedy, as Whitney rejoined us.
"Poor little girl," soliloquized the promoter. "Yes, indeed. And
Lockwood is a lucky dog, too. Such eyes, such a figure--did you
ever see a more beautiful woman?"
One could not help recognizing that whatever else Whitney might
have said that did not ring true his admiration for the
unfortunate girl was genuine. That was not so remarkable, however.
It could hardly have been otherwise.
"You are acquainted, I suppose, with a Senora de Moche?" ventured
Kennedy again, taking a chance shot.
Whitney looked at him keenly. "Yes," he agreed, "I have had some
dealings with her. She was an acquaintance of old Mendoza's--a
woman of the world, clever, shrewd. I think she has but one
ambition--her son. You have met her?"
"Not the Senora," admitted Craig, "but her son is a student at the
University."
"Oh, yes, to be sure," said Whitney. "A fine fellow--but not of
the type of Lockwood."
Why he should have coupled the names was not clear for the moment.
But he had risen, and was moving deliberately up and down the
office, his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, as though he were
thinking of something very perplexing.
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