Miss Norvell grasped her firmly by the shoulder.
"Brown?" she exclaimed eagerly. "Stutter Brown? Oh, call him back; cannot you call him back?"
The young Mexican shook her head, her white teeth gleaming, as she drew her shoulder free from the fingers clasping it.
"You vas too late, señorita," she replied, sweetly confident. "He vas already gone to de 'Little Yankee.' But he speak mooch to me first."
"Much about what?"
"Vel, he say he lofe me—he say eet straight, like eet vas vat he meant."
"Oh!"
"Si, señorita; he not even talk funny, maybe he so excited he forgot how, hey? An' vat you tink dat he say den to Mercedes—vat?"
The other shook her head, undecided, hesitating as to her own purpose.
"He ask me vould I marry him. Si, si, vat you tink of dat—me, Mercedes Morales, de dancer at de Gayety—he ask me vould I marry him. Oh, Mother of God!"