Always suspicious, he wondered if Mrs Hargrave was trying to draw him, herself knowing who they were. Anyway, she had failed. He was not to be caught by a leading question like that.
Then presently she nudged him. “Look, look, the Chief!”
Yes, it was Contraras, driving in a humble cab. His fine, lined face showed clear against the waning light.
“Wonderful man! The brains of sixty, the fire and energy of twenty!” said Moreno glibly. He spoke with all the enthusiasm of a true son of the Revolution.
Mrs Hargrave made no comment. Equipage after equipage rolled up, containing fair women and brave men. The Palace was one blaze of light. The crowd grew closer, enjoying the spectacle of the arriving guests, and it seemed a crowd that was at once good-humoured and appreciative, if at times critical.
Moreno turned to his companion. “I say, it’s a bit of a shame that you and I are not inside instead of here, eh? I think Contraras might have worked that while he was about it.”
Mrs Hargrave smiled back; she was very attracted by this black-browed young Spaniard.
“My dear friend, under the new régime, we shall all go to Court.”
“To the Court of Contraras, I suppose?”
“Something of that sort,” answered Violet, letting herself go a little. “And Madame Contraras, more aristocratic than any queen, will smile condescendingly, and the pretty daughter will turn up her nose at us.”