"I am afraid you can find no accommodations," he said, with but the slightest trace of an accent.
Henderson said something to him in Spanish, and as he did so the man stared a moment, smiled, showing all his teeth, and then answered in the same tongue with a flood of words that I could barely understand. Then he took our hats and bowed the way into a little parlor.
"Will the senor with the injured foot recline upon the sofa? I will bring in hot water to bathe it. We have a large room upstairs with a bed for two, where the senores may pass the night." He took out a large gold watch. "It is now quarter before six. Dinner will be served at half after the hour. Till then the senores may rest. I will bring the hot water to your chamber."
Promptly at six-thirty Henderson and I descended the stairs. The rest and a bath had done us both good, and even my ankle, though badly swollen, had ceased to give much pain. From the house and from our host we had gathered much of interest. His family had come over some seventy-five years ago and had moved directly to the little house, which the widower Senor Lucas de Marcelo and his daughter Adelita still possessed. Don Lucas himself was a jeweller, going in to the city every day. We found him waiting for us at the foot of the stairs.
"In but a moment dinner will be prepared," he said. "If the senores will pardon me, I must go out to the kitchen. To-night is the big dance, the mascarade, for which Adelita must dress." He raised his voice. "Adela! Hasten, little one."
"I am coming," called a clear girlish voice.
Henderson and I waited in the little parlor. Back in the house we could hear our host moving about among the pots and pans. Then from the top of the stairs there sounded a soft voice:
"Padre—father!"
Don Lucas dropped his work and stepped into the parlor.
There was a swish, a click of high heels on the stairs, a flash of red, with a momentary glimpse of white, and the girl stood before us. The father spoke: