“It didn’t last long, but it was rather awful while it did.”
“Rather awful, no?—If I had known! I said to Ramón, won’t you keep the soldiers?—the guard, no? He said they were not necessary. But here—you never know, no?”
“Niña!” cried Juana, from the terrace. “Niña! Don Antonio says he is coming to see you.”
“Tell him to come to-morrow.”
“Already he is on the way!” cried Juana, in helplessness. Don Antonio was Kate’s fat landlord; and, of course, Juana’s permanent master, more important in her eyes, then, even than Kate.
“Here he is!” she cried, and fled.
Kate leaned forward in her chair, to see the stout figure of her landlord on the walk outside the window, taking off his cloth cap and bowing low to her. A cloth cap!—She knew he was a great Fascista, the reactionary Knights of Cortes held him in great esteem.
Kate bowed coldly.
He bowed low again, with the cloth cap.
Kate said not a word.