I had not reread Richard Warren's letters since my marriage. And this was a night I dared not read them, for all that my resolve weakened. For, in some inexplicable way, he had become very real to me--in Cuba. And I knew that he could not be anyone save himself, could not be anything save strong and fine and understanding. I took my trouble into Peter's room and sat with it for a long time, by his bedside. But it was Dawn, before, in my cool, deep alcove, I had ceased tossing and slept. CHAPTER XI A week slipped by before we returned the Howells' call. Then, one brilliant morning, I drove with Bill into Havana and together we transacted some embarrassing monetary business at the bank. After which I expressed a desire to go shopping. The sidewalks were quite impassable: so narrow that, for the most part, the pedestrians, unhurried, strolled in the hardly wider streets. The shops held me, fascinated. And I was not a little annoyed at the manner in which Bill conducted my purchases--here a gorgeous feather fan, there a piece of lace: and in another spot a deadly and lovely bit of Toledo workmanship, executed with rare finesse on the hilt of a stiletto. Yet, I too, was determined not to return to Green Hill without a trunk laden with gifts for my dear people there. Once, I slipped away from my husband, who was deep in conversation ... of a political nature, judging from the volubility of the shop-keeper who engaged his attention ... and, entering a store some five or six houses away, I tried out my absurd and garbled knowledge of Spanish, with terrifying results. For the little lady who guarded the delicate linens flooded me with such an impressive flow of wholly unintelligible syllables, that, baffled, I beat an ignominious retreat, followed by her to the very door. On the street I met Bill, hatless and disturbed out of all proportion. "Please never do that again, Mavis," he commanded, taking my arm. "I am not willing to have you roam the streets of Havana alone." I drew my arm away. "I am quite capable of taking care of myself," I said with frigidity, "especially in broad daylight." "This is not Green Hill," he answered enigmatically, "nor yet New York." I started to reply, but a glance from a passing dark-eyed individual, immaculately attired in white, quelled me. I had never before encountered anything quite so sweeping, so totally inventorying, so insolent. I had the immediate sensation that I was in one of those nightmare dreams, in which one walks upon a public highway, quite unclothed. Unconsciously, I cast a reassuring glance at my lavender linen, and breathed again. I must have gasped, for Bill looked from my blazing cheeks to the wayfaring gentleman. Something belligerent came into his eyes, and then he looked into mine, lifting his brows. "You see?" he remarked. It was plain that I had seen. I said nothing, but hastened my steps. "Where did you leave your hat?" I asked sweetly.