In her hand she dangled a tiny black
mask. Her father looked at her proudly.
"It is the dancing costume of the Old Country," he explained. "It is
in honor of the _mascarade_ to-night."
We passed into the little dining-room. Just before we sat down
Henderson managed to whisper to me:
"Whew! I guess you're right about the good-looking girl."
All through the meal he watched her covertly, and the moment he took
his eyes from her face I noticed that she would glance over at him.
Then the second he turned her way her eyes would drop and a dull red
would suffuse her face and neck. Whether Henderson noticed it or not I
do not know, but I did. When the coffee was brought in by Adelita our
host opened a box of mellow cigars, and we passed out into the parlor.
In the doorway the girl stopped her father and excitedly whispered in
his ear.
"Please," she pleaded, "you know you are old and do not like to stay
so late, and he is young and big and could take as good care of me as
you. Please, _padre_."
"Would it be right?" he queried. Then he thought a moment.
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