“Don’t you worry about the other,” said Morera. “The other’s only there so I can break it on your damned head in case I get tired of looking at you. See what I mean?”
The grand pimp professed the most perfect comprehension.
“Well, this is a bum place,” Morera declared, after they had sat for a while. “I believe we sha’n’t get no fun here. Let’s quit.”
He drove her back to the pension, and the next day they took ship to La Plata for Buenos Aires.
Morera insisted on Sylvia’s staying at an expensive hotel and was very anxious for her to buy plenty of new evening frocks.
“I’ve got a fancy,” he explained, “to show you a bit of life. You hadn’t seen life before you came to Argentina.”
The change of air had made Sylvia feel much better, and when she had fitted herself out with new clothes, to which Morera added a variety of expensive and gaudy jewels, she felt quite ready to examine life under his guidance.
He took her to one or two theaters, to the opera, and to the casinos; then one evening he decided upon a special entertainment of which he made a secret.
“I want you to dress yourself up fine to-night,” he said. “We’re going to some smart ball. Put on all your jewelry. I’m going to dress up smart, too.”
Sylvia had found that overdressing was the best way of returning his hospitality; this evening she determined to surpass all previous efforts.