I guessed what she really wanted, so I spoke: 

“You go, Fritz.  I’d like to, only my foot’s too bad.”

“I won’t go without you,” he said.

Here I took him aside and told him what I had seen at the table.

“Now,” I said, “if you don’t go you’re a fool.  And personally I’d rather stay here anyhow and talk to the don.”

“All right.  I’ll do it.”

The girl was watching him, and as he spoke she smiled.  Then she walked over to him, put both her hands in his, looked up into his face and laughed aloud, a cheery, rippling laugh.

“For to-night,” she said, “you shall be my cavalier, mi caballero.”  Then I heard him whisper in Spanish: 

“I will.  And you shall be my lady.”

After half an hour of bustling and sewing and rummaging in trunks, there appeared on the stairs some six feet of Spanish cavalier.  I held him off at arm’s length.

“Well, old man, you look like a prince.  You pretty near match the princess.  But where did you get that rig?”

“Oh, the boots and the picture hat”—­he nodded his head and the feather moved majestically—­“they belong to old Marcelo.  He used to wear ’em.  They have had a masquerade ball here every year for the past fifty years, more or less—­Don Lucas couldn’t quite remember.  These boots”—­they were patent leather with yellow tops—­“fit as if they belonged to me.  This cape is an old one of the girl’s turned inside out”—­it was light yellow satin—­“and the red sash is hers too.  I tell you, this is the best fun I’ve had in years.  And isn’t the girl a queen though!”

“Well,” I began—­but here she came into the room.

“It is time,” she said, “that we started, you and I.”  Her father descended the stairs.  Adelita threw her arms about his neck and kissed him.

“Good-night, Padre—­till later. Buenas noches.  Good-night, senor.”  This to me.

“Buenas noches, Adela,” murmured the old man.  “Good-night, senor.  Take good care of the daughter.”  The father and I passed into the parlor.

She took Henderson’s hand and led him out of the door.  They did not go out of the gate, but turned through the little garden, past the house, and followed a narrow path that ran down the hill.  As the grass was high on either side he followed where she led, holding fast to the hand she stretched out to him.  Suddenly as the path dipped down the hill she commenced to run.  Henderson held back.  She looked over her shoulder, laughing.

“Are you afraid to follow?” she asked in Spanish.

“No, little one, I am not,” he answered in the same tongue, “but I am afraid that with those high heels you will wrench your ankle.”

“Oho,” she laughed, “I was born for this.”  But she stopped and walked slowly.

The moon was just rising, big and red, as if it were autumn instead of late spring.  The girl drew in a deep breath.