“Cogan had another question.  Was not the mounted capeador Juan Roca a brother of Luis Roca, the hat dealer?  And he was told that he was, and that Luis Roca was now engaged in an enormous hat business with the United States, and had grown very wealthy, thanks to the increase of trade since the American occupation of the Isthmus.  And Cogan inquired further—­was there a daughter who would be now about eighteen?  ’A daughter?  Blood of a bull—­surely.’  And beautiful?  Beautee-full! the Senorita Roca beautee-full?  Mother of God!’ If he wished, he could post himself on the Pasada that very afternoon—­any afternoon—­and see her driving with her jolly good father or her proud mother, or it might be with Senor Lorenzo de Guavera.  ‘And,’ added Ferrero, ’you will meet Juan there also—­if he ees returned from the ranch.’

“In the cool of the afternoon they went to the Pasada, which is where everybody in Lima who has a pair of horses and a coachman goes driving of an afternoon.  They pace up one side and down the other.  Cogan never saw so many fine horses and beautiful women in such a short time.  And he saw the hat dealer—­the same lively, good-humored Grand Duke man to look at, dressed in the same style of white ducks and big Panama hat, with the same great beard down on his chest.  Beside him was a stately, beautiful girl.  Cogan stared.  He could see the resemblance right away.  ‘That must be an elder sister,’ he thought, ’and that must be her mother.’  The mother was beautiful, too; but also she knew it.  There was also a well-set-up, well-dressed, well-groomed, distinguished looking man.

“Cogan was staring after the carriage, when he heard a voice in his ear.  Ferrero was speaking to him.  ’Ah-h, you know heem, Luis, Juan’s brother, yes?  And the senora?—­and the Senorita Valera?’

“‘Valera?  But that is not the little girl—­’

“‘Leetle girl?’

“‘Has she not—­the senorita—­a younger sister?’

“‘Sister?  There ees no sister—­only herself.’

“And so his little Valera had grown into that stately, self-possessed young lady.  Cogan felt sad.

“’And some say he ees to be betrothed to her, yes.  Senor—­Mister Guavera, yes—­that ees heem.  A splendid man.  Poor Torellas.  Ah-h, but here ees Juan coming.  He speaks the most beautee-full English.  Behold—­Juan!’

“Ferrero was pointing out a square-shouldered, compactly built, bronzed man of five feet seven or so, who was carving curved shapes out of the air with his hands and pointing to one horse and then another in the parade to illustrate his words.  To further illustrate, he carved beautiful figures with his cane and raised one knee after the other violently to depict the animal’s action.  A man full of gimp, Juan seemed to be.  ‘It is his new horse,’ explained Ferrero.  ’He will tell us of it, too.’  And he did—­went over it all again after he had been introduced to Cogan.  ‘Oh, a marvel of a horse,’ he wound up, ’and I shall ride him in the next fiesta.’