Beth Norvell

"Dios de Dios, but I had all forgot dis vas your night for de dance,

señor. But you no so easy forget Mercedes, hey?"

He stood directly before them, plainly embarrassed, gripping his

disreputable hat in both hands like a great bashful boy, his face

reddening under her smiling eyes, his voice appearing to catch within

his throat. Mercedes laughed again, patting his broad shoulder with

her white hand as though she petted a great, good-natured dog. Then

her sparkling black eyes caught sight of something unexpected beyond,

and, in an instant, grew hard with purpose.

"Holy Mother! but eet 's true he ees here, señorita--see yonder by de

second vindow," she whispered fiercely. "Maybe it vas so he tink to

get you once more, but he not looked dis vay yet. Bueno! I make him

dance vis me. Dis man Stutter Brown, an' he go vis you to de hotel;

ees eet not so, amigo?"

"I-I have no t-t-time," he stuttered, totally confused. "Y-you see, I

'm in a h-hell of a h-h-hurry."

"Pah; eet vill not take five minute, an' I be here ven you come back.

Si, señor, I vait for you for de dance, sure." She turned eagerly to

Miss Norvell. "You go vis him, señorita; he ver' good man, I,

Mercedes, know."

The American looked at them both, her eyes slightly smiling in

understanding.

"Yes," she assented quietly, "I believe he is."