He had stopped smiling. He leaned forward and spoke to Pilar in a serious voice.
"Listen to me, Pilar," he said. "I do not want your castanets if you do not care to sell them to me. But—" He hesitated for a moment while Pilar stared at him, still with that look of anger and fear in her eyes. "But I do want something else!"
Pilar's grandfather raised himself upon his pillow. "What is it that you wish, Señor?" he asked.
"The Little Spanish Dancer!" replied the gentleman. "I want Pilar!"
| TOLEDO |
Both Pilar and her grandfather started. What was this man talking about?
"I want to take Pilar to my school," he went on, "and teach her. For I believe that some day she will be a wonderful dancer. And I should know, for I have taught some of the best dancers in Spain."
Now Pilar realized who he was. Often she had passed the window of his dancing school. She had watched the fortunate pupils and listened to the strains of a tango and the clatter of castanets.
Upon the walls of the school were colored posters showing scenes of bullfights. Girls and boys, young and old, stamped their feet and twirled to fiery music.
It had always made Pilar's heart beat faster. She had longed to join them. But lessons were only for wealthy children and—