Henderson turned on his heel and walked directly over to where the girl stood, talking with the shepherdess. Adelita looked down as he came up and tapped the floor nervously with the toe of a red slipper. Her face was flushed.
"May I have this dance?" he asked.
"Surely."
They swung off to the tune of a catchy American popular air. Few of the dances had been Spanish. He waited, and at last she broke the silence.
"Carlos danced with me and tried to get me to speak, but I would not. Nevertheless he knows me, and is angry—very angry. But it will do him good. He—he said he was going to speak to you."
"He did," put in Henderson dryly. "Is it the custom here to allow no other man to dance with one's friends?"
"No," she said, "it is not. But he—Carlos is very jealous."
After the dance the officer came up to Henderson again.
"You heard me," he muttered. "I cannot bear with this."
Again Henderson turned on his heel and again he asked her for the next dance. She had it with the sailor, but promised him the one after.