“But if he has any sand,” she informed herself, “he will follow me up. And I’ll marry whom I please—so there!”
The next morning, having seen the rest of the party off to the cathedral, Catalina and Captain Over started down the Rambla Centro in high good-humor; they shared the exhilaration of moving on, and enjoyed the novelty of the new housekeeping. They packed a hamper with cold ham and roast chicken, cake, and two loaves of bread. Then Catalina bought recklessly in a confectioner’s and Captain Over visited a coffee-shop. When they had filled the front seat of their cab, Catalina, after a half-hour of sharp bargaining, bought a white lace mantilla and a fine old fan.
“These are two of the things I came to Spain for,” she announced to the bewildered Englishman, who had shopped with women before, but never with a woman who was definite, concentrated, driving hard in a straight line. As they went out with the precious bundle he ventured his first remark.
“I had an idea you were indifferent to dress.”
“I am and I am not. I had rather be comfortable most of the time, and I hate being stared at, but when I dress I dress. I may never wear this mantilla, but it is a thing of beauty to possess and look at.”
“I hope you will wear it, and here in Spain. Are you part Spanish, by-the-way?”
“No, Indian.”
“Indian?” He looked at her with renewed interest. “Do you mind?”
“No, I don’t. It’s a good excuse for a whole lot of things.”
“Ah, I see. Well, it certainly makes you different from other people. You like that and you may believe it.”