"This is no fit place; come with me," Mr. Britton replied, leading the way two or three blocks down the street, to a first-class restaurant. He conducted her through the ladies' entrance into a private box, where he ordered a substantial dinner for two.
"Señor," she protested, as the waiter left the box, "I have no money, no way to repay you for this, you understand?"
"I understand," he answered, quickly; "I want no return for this. Miss Underwood wished me to find you, and help you, if I could."
"Yes, I know; you are the Señorita's friend."
"And your friend also, if I can help you."
"You saved his life that night, Señor; I do not forget," the woman said, with peculiar emphasis.
"Yes, I undoubtedly saved the scoundrel from a summary vengeance; possibly I might not have done it, had I known what the alternative would be. Where is that man now?" he asked, with sudden directness.
"I do not know, Señor; he tells me nothing, but I have heard he went south some time ago."
The entrance of the waiter with their orders put a temporary stop to conversation. The woman ate silently, regarding Mr. Britton from time to time with an expression of childlike wonder. When her hunger was appeased, and she seemed inclined to talk, he said,—
"Tell me something of yourself. When and where did you marry that man?"