fe." In obvious
embarrassment she added: "It is because you are not in the confidence
of your father. You can see that that must make it difficult for
Colonel Vega."

Bewildered, Roddy stared at her and again laughed.

"And what possible interest," he demanded, "can _my_ father have in
Colonel Vega?"

For a moment, with distrust written clearly in her eyes, the girl
regarded him reproachfully. Then she asked coldly:

"Do you seriously wish me to think that you do _not_ know that?"

While they had been speaking, even when Inez had made it most evident
to Roddy that to herself and to her friends he was a discredited
person, he had smiled patiently. His good humor had appeared
unassailable. But now his eyes snapped indignantly. He pressed his
lips together and made Inez an abrupt bow.

"I assure you, I know nothing," he said quickly.

He threw the reins over the neck of the pony, and with a slap on its
flank drove it across the road within reach of the waiting Pedro. Then
lifting his hat, and with another bow, he started in the direction of
Willemstad. Inez, too surprised to speak, sat staring after him. But
before he had taken a dozen steps, as though she had called him back
and asked him to explain, he halted and returned. He had entirely
recovered his good humor, but his manner when he spoke was not
conciliatory.

"The trouble is this," he said, "your friends are so deep in plots
that they have lost sight of the thing that counts. While they are
'mistrusting,' and suspecting, and spying on each other, a man is
dying. I know that much, anyway. That is all I care to know." As
though it were an extenuating fact, he added: "It is a question of
character. It is a Venezuelan way of doing things. But it is not our
way. It was very kind of you to give me this chance to explain our
interfering. But I see now--everybody," he added dryly, "has taken
pains to make it very plain--that we are a nuisance." He paused, and
to assure her it was not she he was upbraiding, smiled cheerfully. In
his most confidential manner he continued lightly: "For myself, I have
always thought there was something to say for the fools who rush in
where angels fear to tread. I remember once seeing a fool rush into a
burning building and rescue a child, while I and some other angels
shouted for ladders." He nodded, and again lifted his hat. "Good-by,"
he said, "and thank you." Leaving her seated silent in the saddle, he
walked away.

This time