He hesitated as Revelita changed the plates, and Teddy fell into a revery that had to do with the mysterious people. In the old foolish days when he had first come and had been overwhelmed by the place, he had tried to plunge headlong into the native life of the town. There had been dances in the little halls at the edge of the city: colourful but stiff affairs with little skinny girls wearing pink ribbons in their hair, dancing with swarthy little boys. He had eaten by preference in the Mexican restaurants—not that there were many; the native townspeople liked to eat at home—where he had tried to burn out his guts, as he expressed it, with chile in various forms. Here and there he met and danced with Revelita. Then came the new phase, when he began to go uptown to the big houses. He had almost forgotten the queer triumphant feeling he had when Revelita first appeared at his elbow at Bob’s, wearing a white apron and offering him a cocktail from a tray, eyes downcast, and lips composed. Then the climax, a few nights later, when he was alone in Bob’s house, drawing upon his new pleasant intimacy by reading in the library while Bob was out at Sanford’s. The hurried step outside, the Spanish recriminations, and Revelita’s startled face when she found him in a supposedly empty house; her face still twisted in anger and fear of her father, who had beaten her after a quarrel, and driven her up to Bob’s strap in hand. Of course, something had to be done to quiet her. Together, amused by the piquancy of it, they raided the liquor-chest. Revelita was reckless, drunk, excited out of her usual reserve. Followed the usual row of asterisks, he told himself. And then the next day she appeared once more at his elbow in the white apron, eyes downcast, lips composed. He still remembered the thrill of power that little incident had given him. It was a wonderful town. “A mysterious people.” Bob repeated as Revelita’s stocky figure passed out through the door. “Who knows what they are thinking?” They had coffee in the living-room before beginning to play. Teddy looked around at the calm well-fed faces, the heavy blankets that curtained the windows, the polished floor and all the big permanent things that Stuart lived with, among which he had his leisurely thoughts of people and poetry and music. Quietly, he stretched out his legs and settled back to sip the coffee. For the first time that day, he was really happy. Safe. CHAPTER EIGHT “I think I’m going crazy,” Flo remarked in a pleased tone. “I’ve thought so several times lately and there’s no possible doubt.” “Huh?” said Gin. She turned a page of the new “Photoplay” and cried suddenly, “_Look_ at this! I’ll never speak to him again!” “Who?” “Clive Brook. Oh, dear, he’s wearing the most godawful waistcoat. Look.” “Tasty, I think. Pour me some tea, that’s a good girl.” “Why do you think you are going crazy? I want some more chocolate cake. Where is that girl?”