So far, when Bobby tried afterward to recall the details of the evening,
everything was perfectly distinct in his memory. The remainder of the
meal, made uncomfortable by Maria's sullenness and Paredes's sneers, his
attempt to recapture the earlier gayety of the evening by continuing to
drink the wine, his determination to go later to the Cedars in spite of
Graham's doubt--of all these things no particular lacked. He remembered
paying the check, as he usually did when he dined with Paredes. He
recalled studying the time-table and finding that he had just missed
another train.

Maria's spirits rose then. He was persuaded to accompany her and Paredes
to the music hall. In her dressing-room, while she was on the stage, he
played with the boxes of make-up, splashing the mirror with various
colours while Paredes sat silently watching.

The alteration, he was sure, came a little later in the cafe at a table
close to the dancing floor. Maria had insisted that Paredes and he should
wait there while she changed.

"But," he had protested, "I have missed too many trains."

She had demanded his time-table, scanning the columns of close figures.

"There is one," she had said, "at twelve-fifteen--time for a little
something in the cafe, and who knows? If you are agreeable I might
forgive everything and dance with you once, Bobby, on the public floor."

So he sat for some time, expectant, with Paredes, watching the boisterous
dancers, listening to the violent music, sipping absent-mindedly at his