Gallardo sat with his head bent, half intimidated by the ironical flash in those clear eyes, shimmering like gold dust.
Suddenly he sat up like one who has taken a resolution.
"Where have you been all this time, Doña Sol?"
"All over the world," she answered simply. "I am a bird of passage. In numberless towns of which you would not even know the names."
"And that foreigner who accompanies you is ... is?"...
"Is a friend," she answered coldly. "A friend who has been kind enough to accompany me, taking advantage of the opportunity to know Spain; a clever man who bears an illustrious name. From here we shall go to Andalusia, when he has done seeing the museums. What more do you wish to know?"
This question, so haughtily asked, showed her imperious will to keep the torero at a distance, and to re-establish social distinctions between them. Gallardo felt disconcerted.
"Doña Sol," he moaned ingenuously. "What you have done to me is unpardonable. You have acted very badly towards me, very badly indeed.... Why did you fly without saying a single word?"
"Don't vex yourself like that, Gallardo. What I did was a very good thing for you. Do you not even yet know me well enough? Could one not get tired of that time?... If I were a man I would fly from women of my character. It is suicidal for a man to fall in love with me."
"But why did you leave?" persisted Gallardo.