“I can amuse myself,” returned Suzee sulkily.  “All the same, I believe it’s a woman you are going to.”

The blood rushed over my face with anger and annoyance, but I restrained myself and made no answer.  She was so much of a child, it seemed absurd to enter into argument or to get angry with her.

I went back to reading my other letters and occupied myself with answering them till luncheon.

That evening about seven I was dressing for dinner, Suzee standing by me or playing with my things and somewhat impeding me, as usual.  She seemed to have recovered from her ill-temper and was all smiles and gay prattle.

Before I took up my hat and coat to leave I bent over her and kissed her.

“You understand, I don’t want you to leave this room till I come back.  They will bring up your dinner here, and you can sit on the balcony and smoke, and you have lots of picture-books to amuse you.  I shall be back at ten.”

She kissed me and smiled and promised not to leave the room, and I went out.

I really enjoyed the evening with my friend.  It was a relief to talk again with one who possessed a full-grown mind after being so long with a childish companion, and the time passed pleasantly enough.  A quarter to ten seemed to come directly after dinner and my companion was astonished at my wanting to leave so early.

I explained the situation in a few words and, of course, caused infinite amusement to my practical friend.

“The idea of you living with a Chinese infant like that!” he exclaimed.  “I shall hear of your being fascinated with a Hottentot next, I suppose.”

“Maybe,” I answered, putting on my hat.  “Anyway, I must go now; thanks all the same for wishing me to stay.”

I left him and walked rapidly back in the direction of the Iturbide.  Some of the shops were still open, and as I passed down the main street the brilliant display in a jeweller’s window, under the electric light, attracted my attention.

I paused and looked in.  I thought I would buy and take back some little thing to Suzee.  It had been a dull evening for her.  I went in and chose a necklet of Mexican opals.  These, though not so lovely as the sister stone we generally buy in England, have a rich red colour and fire all their own.

I had not enough money with me to pay for it, but with that delightful confidence in an Englishman—­often unfortunately misplaced—­one finds in some distant countries, the shopman insisted on my taking it, and said he would send to the hotel in the morning for the money.

I slipped the case in my pocket and went on to the Iturbide.

After all, I thought, as I neared home, with all her faults she was a very attractive and dear little companion to be going back to.

Full of pleasure at the thought of bestowing the gift and the joy it would give her, I ran up the stone stairs without waiting for the lift and pushed open the door of our room.