The Coast of Adventure by Harold Bindloss

A half moon hung over the flat roofs and the air was very still. Walthew and Grahame sat on a balcony surrounding the patio of Don Martin Sarmiento's house. The lattice windows that opened onto the balcony had old but artistic hinges of bronze, and the crumbling hardwood rails showed traces of skilful carving. Below, a small fountain splashed in a marble basin surrounded by palmettos, and a creeper covered a trellis with trails of dusky purple. A faint smell of decay mingled with the more pungent odors of garlic and olive oil from the kitchen in the courtyard, where a clatter was going on, but no sound from outside broke the silence. Rio Frio was very quiet now.

Cups of black coffee and a plate of fruit stood on a table in front of the men, and the senorita Blanca Sarmiento sat in a low chair opposite, with her duenna a few yards away. Blanca was then nineteen, and Walthew, watching her with unobtrusive admiration, wondered how it was that her relatives had not already arranged a marriage for her, unless, perhaps, her father's political opinions stood in the way. One ran a risk in opposing the Government at Rio Frio. The girl was attractive, with a finely molded figure, the grace of which was displayed by her languid pose. Her hair was dark and coiled in heavy masses on a small, well-shaped head; her lips were full and very red, but her eyes were a deep blue and her skin fairer than that of the Spanish-American women Walthew hitherto had met. Nor did she use the powder they lavishly employ.