“You are still sitting here?” she exclaimed.
“Where else should I be?” Kate answered.
“I don’t know.—Ramón has gone to Sayula, to see the Jefe. He wouldn’t wait for us, to come with us in the boat.”
“I suppose he was in a hurry,” said Kate.
“How fine these Noche Buenas are!” said Teresa looking at the brilliant spread of the red poinsettias.
“They are your Christmas flower, aren’t they?” said Kate.
“Yes—the flowers of the Noche Buena—”
“How awful, Christmas with hibiscus and poinsettia! It makes me long to see mistletoe among the oranges, in a fruiterer’s shop in Hampstead.”
“Why that?” laughed Teresa.
“Oh!” Kate sighed petulantly. “To get back to simple life. To see the ’buses rolling on the mud in Piccadilly, on Christmas Eve, and the wet pavements crowded with people under the brilliant shops.”