We had some tea brought up to us and took it at a little table drawn close to the window,—­Suzee chattering away to me of the delights of this new big city—­as big as ’Frisco, she thought.  And what gay hats the women wore!  She saw them passing underneath.  Would I not take her out to the shops and buy a great big white muslin hat like theirs, covered with pink roses?

I promised I would, watching her with a smile.

She was certainly very lovely just now.  She seemed to have bloomed into fairer beauty than she had possessed at Sitka.

Doubtless her gratified passion and happy relations with me helped to this result, for a woman’s beauty depends almost wholly on her inner life, the life of her emotions and passions.

After tea we went downstairs, hired a carriage, and drove to the Paseo—­or laid-out drive—­which is the thing to do in Mexico at that hour; and to follow the custom of the country you are in is the first golden rule of the traveller who would enjoy himself.

It was about six o’clock, and darkness was closing in on the thick, dust-filled air as we drove with the stream of other vehicles of all descriptions, from the poorest hired carriage to the most splendidly appointed barouche, into the Paseo, a wide, sweeping drive, lined each side with trees and lighted with rows of electric arc-light lamps, some of which glowed pinkly or sputtered out blue rays in the dusk.

It has never seemed to me a very cheerful matter, this drive between the lights in the formal Paseo, this great string of carriages drawn mostly by poor unhappy horses and filled with dressed-up women who stare rudely at each other as they pass and re-pass, solemn and silent ghosts in a world of grey shadow!

But the fashion amongst the Mexican women of painting and powdering to an inordinate degree perhaps accounts for their love of this hour between the lights, when they imagine the falseness of their complexion cannot be detected.

After about an hour’s drive we came back, the great arc-lights now sending their uncertain, shifting glare across the road and serving to show the heavy dust through which we moved.  Seen sideways, the ray of light looked solid, so thick was the atmosphere.

When we came back we dined, and then sat outside our window on the iron balcony, looking down at the gay scene below.

The street was fully lighted now by powerful lamps of electricity, some belonging to the roadway, others hung out over restaurants and shops.  The latter were all open, having been closed through the middle of the day.  The cafes and restaurants were in full swing, half the populace seemed in the street, either walking or driving.

“We will go to a theatre as soon as they open,” I said.  “I don’t think any of them begin till half-past nine or ten.”

Suzee clapped her hands.

“That will be nice, Treevor,” she said.

“I did like the theatre in Chinatown.  I went with Nanine sometimes.”