"What is she?" Andres cried. "She says nothing, she hardly ever lifts her eyes from her hands, I can give you my word kissing her is like tasting a sherbet; and yet I can't put her out of my mind. I get all my thoughts, my feelings, from her as though they passed in a body from her brain to mine. They are thoughts I detest. Charles, when I am away from you, I doubt and question you, and sink into an indifference toward all we are, all we have been." "Something like that began to happen to me," Charles admitted; "it was necessary to bring it to an end; just as you must. Such things are not for us. Drop her, Andres, on the Paseo, where she belongs." The other again slipped outside the bounds of their friendship. "I must ask you to make no such allusion," he retorted stiffly. Charles laughed, "You old idiot," he said affectionately, "have her and get over it, then, as soon as possible; I won't argue with you about such affairs, that's plain." Andres laid a gripping hand on his arm, avoiding, while he spoke, Charles' searching gaze. "There is one thing you can do for me," he hurried on, "and--and I beg you not to refuse. The manton that belonged to La Clavel! I described it to Pilar, and she is mad to wear it to the danzon at the Tacon Theatre. You see, it was embroidered by the Chinese, and it is appropriate for her. Think of Pilar in that shawl, Charles." "She can't have it," he answered shortly. Andres Escobar's face darkened. "It had occurred to me you might refuse," he replied. "Then there is nothing for me to do. But it surprises me, when I remember the circumstances, that you have such a tender feeling for it. After all, it wasn't a souvenir of love; you never lost an opportunity to say how worn you were with La Clavel." "No, Andres, it isn't a token of love, but a banner, yours even more than mine, a charge we must keep above the earth." That, Andres observed satirically, was very pretty; but a manton, a woman's thing, had no relation to the cause of Cuban independence. "Perhaps, but of course, you are right," Charles agreed. "Very well, then it is only a superstition of mine. I have the feeling that if we lower this--this standard it will bring us bad luck, it will be disastrous. What that Pilar, you may think, is to you, the manton has always been for me. It is in my blood; I regard it as a sailor might a chart. And then, Andres, remember--it protected Cuba." "I have to have it," the other whispered desperately; "she--she wants it, for the danzon." Charles Abbott's resentment changed to pity, and then to a calm acceptance of what had the aspect of undeviating fate. "Very well," he said quietly. "After all, you are right, it is nothing but a shawl, and our love for each other must not suffer. I'll give it to you freely, Andres: she will look wonderful in it."