She didn’t dare look back again, lest Duke accidentally spot her face. Her breath was coming in painful gasps now, but she fought her way on, never taking her eyes from the pirate’s black cape and black hat.
Then, half a block ahead of her, the moving parade seemed to be widening out, losing its marching form, the marchers spreading out and milling around in aimless circles like a thin stream of water that has suddenly flowed into a round, cuplike pool. The floats ahead of her stopped, some of them pulling out of line. Obviously this was the end of the route. The parade was breaking up. The black-clad figure was forever lost in the surging eddy of human figures.
Vicki found herself pushed up against an iron fence that surrounded a statue. She clung to it while she caught her breath. All around her, groups of people went off arm in arm. Musicians from the bands strode by carrying their instruments under their arms, or occasionally pausing to blow out a wild note in sheer exuberance. Vicki felt lost, discouraged and alone.
Then she took stock of the situation she was in, and reflected on the wild chase of the last half hour. Supposing she had caught up with the black-robed pirate? Suppose he had suddenly stopped and confronted her? What could she have said? Would she have pulled the mask from his face?
As she was thus lost in thought, a cheerful voice behind her said: “Vicki!”
She turned around. It was Louise.
“Hi there, Vic! How do you like our Gasparilla Parade?”
Vicki managed a grin. “I wouldn’t want to be in one every day.” She took the black lace from her head. “Thanks for the use of your mantilla.”
Louise frowned as she took the shawl. “Back there a while ago, when you asked me for this, you seemed—well, almost desperate. Was anything wrong, Vic?”
“I guess maybe my face was showing my excitement.” Vicki laughed, passing the incident off lightly. “I guess I sort of felt out of place without a costume.”