He jingled the money in his pocket with a joyful reverence, as if he were ringing a sanctus-bell. "Now, you come back with me into the cabaret." Sylvia hesitated. "Don't you worry. Nobody won't dare to look at you when you're with me." Morera put her arm in his, and back they walked into the cabaret again, more than ever like Carmen with her Toreador. The grand pimp, seeing that Sylvia was safely protected, came forward with obeisances and apologies. "See here. Bring two bottles of champagne," Morera commanded. The grand pimp beckoned authoritatively to a waiter, but Morera stood up in a fury. "I didn't tell you to bring a waiter. I told you to bring two bottles of champagne. Bring them yourself." The grand pimp returned very meekly with the bottles. "Dat's more like. Draw the cork of one." The grand pimp asked if he should put the other on ice. "Don't you worry about the other," said Morera. "The other's only there so I can break it on your damned head in case I get tired of looking at you. See what I mean?" The grand pimp professed the most perfect comprehension. "Well, this is a bum place," Morera declared, after they had sat for a while. "I believe we sha'n't get no fun here. Let's quit." He drove her back to the pension, and the next day they took ship to La Plata for Buenos Aires. Morera insisted on Sylvia's staying at an expensive hotel and was very anxious for her to buy plenty of new evening frocks. "I've got a fancy," he explained, "to show you a bit of life. You hadn't seen life before you came to Argentina." The change of air had made Sylvia feel much better, and when she had fitted herself out with new clothes, to which Morera added a variety of expensive and gaudy jewels, she felt quite ready to examine life under his guidance. He took her to one or two theaters, to the opera, and to the casinos; then one evening he decided upon a special entertainment of which he made a secret. "I want you to dress yourself up fine to-night," he said. "We're going to some smart ball. Put on all your jewelry. I'm going to dress up smart, too." Sylvia had found that overdressing was the best way of returning his hospitality; this evening she determined to surpass all previous efforts. "Heavens!" she ejaculated, when she made the final survey of herself in the looking-glass. "Do I look more like a Christmas tree or a chemist's shop?" When she joined Morera in the lounge, she saw that he was in evening dress, with diamonds wherever it was possible to put them. "You're fine," he said, contentedly. "Dat's the way I like to see a goil look. I guess we're going to have lots of fun to-night."