He dwelt eagerly, however, on the paragraphs of the report that asserted such vast wealth to exist in _El Sombrero_.

Francesca listened with rising color.

Once in a while she shot a pretty, sidelong glance at Tom to show her pleasure over the report, the whole authorship of which she plainly believed to belong to him.
"Why, it reads like a romance!" the girl cried, clapping her hands when the reading had finished.
"A romance?
Yes!" ground Tom, under his breath.

"It is romance--pure fiction and absurdly false in every line!" "It must be a wonderful talent to possess, senor," said Francesca, turning to Tom Reade.

"A wonderful talent to be able to describe a matter of business in such eloquent language." "It is a rare gift," Tom admitted modestly, though he had a design in what he was saying.