And she held out her hand in the dim light of the street lamps.
"I will give you the chocolates," he answered. "As many as you like."
"How kind of you. You are a dear. I am so glad to see your solemn old face again. I am very hard up. I don't really know where all my pocket-money has gone to this term."
She laughed gaily, and turned to look up at him. And in a moment her manner changed.
"Oh, Marcos," she said, "I am so miserable. And I have no one to talk to. You know--papa is dead."
"Yes," he answered, "know."
"For three days," she went on, "I thought I should die. And then, but I am afraid it wasn't prayer, Marcos, I began to feel--better, you know. Was it very wicked? Of course I had never seen him. It would have been quite different if it had been my dear, darling old Uncle Ramon--or even you, Marcos."
"Thank you," said Marcos.
"But I had only his letters, you know, and they were so political! Then I felt most extremely angry with Leon for being such a muff. He did nothing to try and find out who had killed papa, and go and kill him in return. I felt so disgusted that I was not a man. I feel so still, Marcos. This is the shop, and those are the chocolates stuck on that sheet of white paper. Let us buy the whole sheet. I will pay you back next term."
They entered the shop and there Marcos bought her as many chocolates as she could hope to conceal beneath the long ends of her mantilla.