"Let us see," answered Kennedy, quickening his pace.
She had not gone very far before a man seemed to spring up from
nowhere and meet her. He bowed, and walked along beside her.
"De Moche," recognized Kennedy.
Alfonso had evidently been waiting in the shadow of an entrance
down the street, perhaps hoping to see her, perhaps as our
newspaper friend had seen before, to watch whether Lockwood was
among her callers. As we walked along, we could see the little
drama with practically no fear of being seen, so earnestly were
they talking.
Even during the few minutes that the Senorita was talking with him
no one would have needed to be told that she really had a great
deal of regard for him, whatever might be her feelings toward
Lockwood.
"I should say that she wants to see him, yet does not want to see
him," observed Kennedy, as we came closer.
She seemed now to have become restive and impatient, eager to cut
the conversation short.
It was quite evident at the same time that Alfonso was deeply in
love with her, that though she tried to put him off he was
persistent. I wondered whether, after all, some of the trouble had
not been that during his lifetime the proud old Castilian Don Luis
could never have consented to the marriage of his daughter to one
of Indian blood.
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