When cigars and cigarettes were lighted, and the company broke up into laughing, gossiping, noisy groups, the place looked more like a popular Continental cafe than a room in a private mansion.
Though De Sylva, General Russo, San Benavides, and some score of members of the President's staff who usually dined at the _finca_, were now absent, there was no lack of lively chatter.

A very Babel of tongues mixed in amity.

The prevalent note was one of cheery animation.

Carmela exerted herself to win popularity, and a President's daughter need not put forth very strenuous efforts in that direction to be acclaimed by most.
Iris was listening, with real interest, to Verity's description of the finding of Macfarlane in the _Andromeda's_ boat by a Cardiff-bound collier three days after he had drifted away from Fernando Noronha.
"The yarn kem to us through the Consul at Pernambuco," he said.
"Evidently, from wot you tell me, it's all right.

Poor ole Mac 'ad a bad time afore 'e was picked up, but 'e was alive, an' I'm jolly glad of it, for 'e'll be a first-rate witness w'en this business comes up in court." "Wot court ?" demanded Coke sharply.
"The court that settles our claim, of course," retorted Verity, with a quick ferret look at his fellow-conspirator.
"There'll be no claim.