“If there should be one more guitarist than he hired, do you think it would be noticed?” I asked, smiling.
Pilar clapped her hands. “You're a true lover, Don Ramón,” [pg 215]she exclaimed. “Ay de mi! Nobody will ever love a little dark thing like myself, as Lady Monica is loved. I must be satisfied with the affections of my relations, and a few others, I suppose.” Great eyes lifted sadly ceiling-ward as she spoke, then cast down with distracting play of long curled lashes. Spanish after all to her finger-tips, this María del Pilar Inés, despite her Irish quickness. Poor Dick!
“You believe I could manage it, then?”
“I believe you will. Señor Waring has told me about the masked ball, and how you played Romeo to somebody's Juliet.”
“The difficulty will be to get hold of the impresario.”
Pilar looked at her watch. “They'll know at the Alcázar who's been engaged. There's an hour and a half yet before closing time.”
“What if you and I take a stroll through?” suggested Dick.
“We'll all take a stroll through,” said Pilar, “and papa shall find out. You know, he can always make everybody tell him anything in five minutes. Even Cristóbal and I have never been able to keep a secret from him. If I'd planned to elope, he would only have to whisper and smile, for me to tell all, even if it meant my going into a convent directly after.”
“Yes, we must go to the Alcázar now, or it will be too late,” said the Cherub, with an indulgent twinkle at his spoiled daughter.
The car took us to the gate of the Alcázar, a gate of that unsuggestive Moorish simplicity which purposely hid all splendours of decoration from any save favoured eyes. The guardian knew and evidently respected Colonel O'Donnel; but with apologies which comprehended the whole party, he regretted that he could not let us in. The King was to arrive in a few days, returning from his yachting trip to the Canaries, and would live in the Alcázar which was being got ready for him. From now until the day after his departure, the Alcázar was to be closed to the public.