no wise given to pleasures, had never
wanted to take her to any dances, not even to a masquerade. A swarm of
joyful visions filled her memory. Ah, those happy Sundays when she had
been single! Saturday nights, at the shop, she and the other girls had
made dates for the next day. Sometimes they had visited the dance-halls
at Bombilla. Other times they had gone to Cuatro Caminos or Ventas del
Espiritu Santo. And once there, what laughter and what joy! What strange
emotions of half fear, half curiosity they had felt at sensing the
desire of whatever man had asked them to dance!

Rafaela straightened up, quick, pliant, transfigured.

"You aren't any more willing to ask me, than I am to go!" said she.

"Well, why not, then?" demanded the silversmith. "Let's go, right now!
Let's take a run out to Bombilla, and not leave as long as we've got a
cent!"

The young woman fairly jumped for joy, skipped out of the dining-room,
tied a silk handkerchief over her head and most fetchingly threw an
embroidered shawl over her shoulders. She came back, immediately. Her
little high-heeled, pointed, patent-leather boots and her
fresh-starched, rustling petticoats echoed her impatience. She went up
to Berlanga, took him familiarly by the arm, and said:

"I tell you, though, I'm going to pay half."

The silversmith shook his head in denial. She added, positively:

"That's the only way I'll go. Aren't we both going to have a good time?
That's fair, for us both to pay half."

Berlanga accepted this friendly arrangement. As soon as they got into
the street they hired a carriage. At Bombilla they had a first-rate
supper and danced their heads off, till long past midnight. They went
home afoot, slowly, arm in arm. Rafaela had drunk a bit too much, and
often had to stop. Dizzy, she leaned her head on the silversmith's
breast. Manolo, himself a bit tipsy and out of control, devoured her
with his eyes.

"Say, you're a peach!" he murmured.

"Am I, really?"

"Strike me blind if you're not! Pretty, eh? More than that! You're a
wonder--oh, great! The best I ever saw, and I've seen a lot!"

She still had enough wit left to pretend not to hear him, playing she
was ill. She stammered:

"Oh, I--I'm so sick!"

Suddenly Berlanga exclaimed:

"If Zureda and I weren't pals----"

Silence. The silversmith added, warming to the subject:

"Rafaela, tell me the truth. Isn't it true that Amadeo stands in our
way?"

She peered closely at him, and