So! His divinity was not as unapproachable as he had imagined.
Doubtless Longorio was mad over her, which explained the fellow's
willingness to help her exact reparation from his government. Fine
doings for a respectable married woman! It was wrong, scandalous,
detestable!
After a time Dave rose impatiently. What had come over him,
anyhow? He must be crazy to torture himself in this fashion. What
went on up-stairs certainly was none of his business, and he had
better far amuse himself. In accordance with this excellent
reasoning, he went to a picture-show. But he could not become
interested. The flat images on the screen failed to divert him,
and the only faces he saw were those of Luis Longorio and the lone
mistress of Las Palmas.
Had Dave only known the truth, he would have gained a grim comfort
from it, for Alaire Austin was not enjoying herself this evening.
Her caller stayed on interminably and she became restive under the
flow of his conversation. For some reason or other Longorio was
not the romantic figure he had been; in his citizen's clothes he
was only a dandified Mexican gallant like any number of others.
The color was gone from the picture; this quixotic guerrilla hero,
this elegant Ruy Blas, was nothing more than a tall, olive-skinned
foreigner whose ardor was distasteful.
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