"What do you think about that, now? He's been crying!"
In shame, Enrique answered:
"I don't know. I—I'm upset. But—yes, maybe——"
She smiled, and asked:
"You've got a sweetheart, haven't you?"
"No, no, Señorita."
"It's all foolishness, I know, but every time I hear music—even bad music—it makes me sad."
"That's funny! I don't feel that way!"
The red-faced, thick-set Don Manuel shrugged his square shoulders as much as to say it mattered nothing, and introduced them to each other. Enrique's feverish hand held for a moment the cool, soft hand—snow and velvet—of Little Goldie. Then all three sat down on the same divan, Alicia between the two men. Don Manuel drew out his cigar-case.