"Well, not his ghost certainly, though you seem to think so."
"But—but—I thought you had gone to Granada?"
"I started off yesterday, certainly, with that intention; but I found I could not stand being one of three hundred tourists! I had not realised that sort of travelling before. It has wonderful advantages for untravelled folk, but somehow it did not suit me. I went with them to Ronda; I wanted to see that. But Granada is an old friend of mine. I did not want its memories desecrated. I think I am not exactly a gregarious animal. I made my way to Malaga by night, and found the Auguste-Victoria had already arrived. So, you see, I have turned up like a bad halfpenny, and, if Miss Martin is well enough, I should like very much to be allowed the pleasure of showing her and you what there is to see in Malaga. It is not a great deal—not enough to be fatiguing; but, if you have not been in Spain before, it will give you an idea of a pleasant Spanish town."
Dulcie's face was all in a glow; her heart seemed dancing with joy. The sunshine took a new brightness, the flocks of white sea-gulls circling round the vessel and about the harbour seemed to be crying joyously one to the other. The soft breeze blew the loosened tendrils of hair about her happy face and sparkling eyes.
The thin face of the traveller brightened as he watched.
"Let us see if we cannot get some breakfast first. We will make love to the head steward and ask if they will not let us have it in that little boudoir, as they call it, on the top deck. I hate going below on a morning like this, and I am just starving after my night's travel."
Mr. Carlyon was one of those men who always get things done in their own way. The beauty of the morning and the news of Mr. Carlyon's plan quite roused Miss Martin, who had now recovered from the effects of the Atlantic, and after her day's rest was disposed to bestir herself. She was quite ready even at that early hour to let Dulcie dress her, and help her up the many stairs to the upper deck; and there in the pleasant little "boudoir" was an appetising breakfast awaiting them.
That day was always like a dream to Dulcie, and, indeed, so were those that followed, for Mr. Carlyon proved himself the most charming and entertaining of companions. They had a boat ashore, and then a carriage, and they drove through the white town, and over the wide stony bed of the almost empty river to some exquisite gardens, belonging to Spanish grandees, now absent in Madrid, and wandered about them, whilst Miss Martin rested in the many arbours, seeing beautiful views and delighting in the flowers, which, if not so plentiful now as they would be later on, were fair and sweet and abundant.
On the day following they visited the grand cathedral and examined its many pictures, some of which were of no small interest, and drove out to the red buildings of the great bull-ring, and saw the curious structure and the weapons and saddles of the riders. Everything was empty and deserted at that time of year, for the bull-fights only begin in April. But Dulcie could picture the scene in all its splendour and horror, under the golden Southern sunshine, and gave a little shudder, feeling glad when her companion told her that he had never seen a bull-fight, though he had lived for a time in Spain.
"They are always on Sunday, for one thing," he said, "and I—well, I have had a rough-and-tumble life, and there have been times when Sundays have been strange days with me. But I could never bring my mind deliberately to go to such a scene on such a day; even if I could have made up my mind to witness the brutal spectacle as a matter of curiosity, or from the feeling that it was one of the sights of the country."