"Yes."
"Where from?" she asked in a different voice.
"From the garden."
The mirth vanished from the señora's face as if some one had turned down a lamp. It left her pale, delicately engraved, and not very pretty.
"May I ask why you followed me?" she questioned.
"Sure!" said Strawbridge with a protective impulse stirring in him. "I was coming out of the cathedral and I heard some rough-neck couple raising a row over in the garden. I came on to the palacio and saw you running out of the gate. I knew they had frightened you with their yelping, and it made me mad. So when you go to the cathedral again, just tip me off, please, and I'll go along with you."
The señora stood leaning over the end of the piano, studying him intently.
"That is very kind, and ... and it's a very unexpected kindness, Señor Strawbridge. I am grateful."
"Don't thank me at all.... Do the same for any woman. And, say, that reminds me what I was balled up about."
"'Balled up'? What do you mean—'balled up'?"