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 "Who was the olive-colored party with the fine eyes and foreign accent?" asked Mark, lazily rowing.

"Gabriel André."

"Is he an Italian?"

"No; a Cuban."

"I forgot you had tried that mixture of Spain and Alabama. How was it?"

"As such climates always are to me,—intoxicating to-day, enervating to-morrow."

"How long were you there?"

"Three months."

"I feel tropically inclined, so tell us about it."

"There is nothing to tell."

"I'll prove that by a catechism. Where did you stay?"

"In Havana."

"Of course, but with whom?"

"Gabriel André."

"The father of the saffron youth?"

"Yes."

"Of whom did the family consist?"

"Four persons."

"Mark, leave Mr. Warwick alone."

"As long as he answers I shall question. Name the four persons, Adam."

"Gabriel, sen., Dolores his wife, Gabriel, jun., Catalina, his sister."

"Ah! now we progress. Was señorita Catalina as comely as her brother?"

"More so."

"You adored her, of course?"

"I loved her."

"Great heavens! what discoveries we make. He likes