She waved her hand toward the door, and Roland began to feel almost
cheerful again. He was to be dismissed with a caution, after all. The
woman had a fine, forgiving nature.

"But not you."

"Not me?"

"No, not you. You are the man I have been waiting for. I read about you
in the paper, Senor Bleke. I see your picture in the 'Daily Mirror!' I
say to myself, 'What a man!'"

"Those picture-paper photographs always make one look rather weird,"
mumbled Roland.

"I see you night after night in your box. Poof! I love you."

"Thanks awfully," bleated Roland.

"You would do anything for my sake, _hein_? I knew you were that kind
of man directly I see you. No," she added, as Roland writhed uneasily
in his chair, "do not embrace me. Later, yes, but now, no. Not till the
Great Day."

What the Great Day might be Roland could not even faintly conjecture.
He could only hope that it would also be a remote one.

"And now," said the Senorita, throwing a cloak about her shoulders,
"you come away with me to my house. My friends are there awaiting us.
They will be glad and proud to meet you."