“But what has all this to do with my coming to see you?”

“It is difficult to explain, since you will not understand.  When a young man is accepted into a Spanish house, many things are taken for granted.  Besides that, we do not know each other, you and I. Also, if you should come to see me, it would cause gossip, misunderstanding among my friends.”

“I’ll declare myself in advance,” he promised warmly.

“No, no, no!  We Spanish-Americans do not care for strangers.  We have our own people and we are satisfied.  You Yankees are not very nice; you are barbarous; you assume such liberties.  Our young men are gentle, modest, sweet—­”

“Um-m!  I hadn’t noticed it.”

“This is the first time I have ever talked so freely with a gentleman, and I suppose it is immodest.  After all, it is much better that old people who are of more experience should discuss these questions.”

“But don’t you want to have a voice in your own affairs?” he eagerly urged.  “Do you really want your relatives to tell you whom to meet, whom to love, and whom to marry?”

She answered, frankly:  “Sometimes I feel that way.  Yet at other times I am sure they must know best.”

“I don’t believe you are the sort to shut your eyes and do exactly as you’re told.”

“I do rebel sometimes.  I protest, but it is only the American blood in me.”

“If you’d learn to know me a little bit, maybe you’d enjoy having me around the house.”

“But I cannot know you, any more than you can know me,” she cried, with a little gesture of despair at his dullness.  “Don’t you see—­ before we could get acquainted nicely people would be talking?”

“Let’s try.  You’re living at the country place again, aren’t you?  Suppose I should get lost some day—­tomorrow, for instance?”

“No, no!  Listen.  It is the warning bell, and we must return.”

The crowd was filing into the theatre now.  They fell in behind Senor Garavel and Mrs. Cortlandt.

“I’m going hunting again tomorrow,” prophesied Kirk, “and I’m almost certain to lose my way-about three o’clock.”

“You should take with you a guide.”

“That’s not a bad idea.  I’d like to talk it over with you.  Suppose we have another stroll after the next act?”

“I shall be with my father.  Never before have I enjoyed so much liberty.”  She sighed gratefully.

“Oh, I detest your blamed, straitlaced Spanish customs,” he cried, hotly.  “What do they amount to, anyhow?  I love you.  I do, I do-”

She laughed and darted to her father’s side.

“Don’t you think Miss Garavel is a pretty girl?” Mrs. Cortlandt questioned, as they strolled toward their box.

“She’s a dream.”  Anthony’s tone left nothing unsaid.

“You got along together capitally.  Most of the senoritas are impossible.”

“By the way, what is her name?”