She had snatched away her hand and was almost running down the hill. He made no effort to recover her until they reached the Gate of Granada, and then they walked sedately down the white hot street together.
“Miss Holmes, it seems, has arranged rather a jolly affair for to-night,” he said. “A dance in the Alhambra—in the Court of Lions. She has permission from the authorities, and has engaged some musicians. The moon rises at ten, and we will dance for two or three hours. How do you like the idea?”
“Well enough. I am not overfond of dancing.”
“I am sorry. I hoped you would give me the first waltz.”
“Well, I will if I dance. But dancing is not my forte, and I hate doing anything I don’t do well. I suppose you don’t dance any better yourself, though. Englishmen never do.”
“Indeed! How many Englishmen have you danced with?”
“Well, I have heard they don’t.”
“I flatter myself I dance rather well. It would be more like you to judge for yourself.”
“I’ll see.”
They reached the post-office after a hot walk through the town, there to meet with the usual official stupidity, or indifference, at the window of the poste restante. In vain Catalina adjured the somnolent person leaning on his elbows to look carefully through the R’s and S’s and O’s. He replied that there was nothing, but that there might be on the morrow; the manager of the pension had already spoken to him.