Kate’s skin was already goose-flesh. But the next instant she heard that dingy voice, that spoke so many languages dingily, assailing her with familiarity:
“Ah, Miss Leslie, you missed the best part of it. You missed all the fun! Oh, I say—”
Rage flew into her heart and fire into her eyes. She got up suddenly from her chair, and faced the fellow behind her.
“Thank you!” she said. “I don’t want to hear. I don’t want you to speak to me. I don’t want to know you.”
She looked at him once, then turned her back, sat down again, and took a pitahaya from the fruit plate.
The fellow went green, and stood a moment speechless.
“Oh, all right!” he said mechanically, turning away to the Spaniard who spoke American.
“Well—see you later!” said Owen rather hurriedly, and he went back to his seat at Kate’s table.
The two strange fellows sat at another table. Kate ate her cactus fruit in silence, and waited for her coffee. By this time she was not so angry, she was quite calm. And even Villiers hid his joy in a new sensation under a manner of complete quiet composure.
When coffee came she looked at the two men at the other table, and at the two men at her own table.