He took the chair before her. “Let us talk it out,” he said. “What do you think? Is this close companionship of ours going to end in love, or are we the usual passing jests of propinquity? I admit I have never been so hard hit in my life; but at the same time I am not completely floored. Perhaps that is only because I am too contented in a way. If we were separated for a time, I fancy I’d know.” “Your sense of humor must have flown off with your national caution. I never before heard of a man asking a girl to straighten out his sentiments for him.” “I don’t care a hang about traditions. If I love you I want to marry you, and if I don’t I’d rather be shot. I am talking it out in cold blood when I can, and this unromantic spot, with all that infernal clatter down there, is as good a place as any. Besides, I don’t want you to think that I am not capable of being serious—of appreciating you. Life would be unthinkable happiness if we loved each other—” “You take for granted that if you managed to reach the dizzy height, I should arrive by the same train.” She spoke flippantly, but he saw that she had broken the sticks of her fan. “I told you once before to-day that I believed every Jack had his Jill. If I loved you it would be for what you had in you for me alone—I know what the other thing means. You are as much in doubt as I am. As for myself, I perhaps would be sure if you were not so beautiful; but there are times when you blind, and I don’t intend to make that particular kind of a silly ass of myself.” “Well,” said Catalina, rising, “I have a fancy we will find out in Granada—by moonlight in the Alhambra and all that sort of thing. One thing is positive—we are in the dark at present, and the conditions are not illuminating. Here comes Mrs. Rothe.” As she moved off she turned suddenly. “If you should continue indefinitely in this painful state of vacillation,” she said, sweetly, “you may consider these two little conversations decently buried. For my part, I like friendship, and we have become quite adept at that.” XVIII “This is Granada—Granada—Granada—and we are living in the Alhambra—somehow I always pictured the Alhambra as a mere palace, not as a whole military town where thousands lived; and to be actually domiciled in one of its old streets—its old, steep, narrow, crooked streets—I don’t quite realize it, do you?” “I shall feel more romantic when I have cleaned up—and some one has stolen my pipe.” “Oh, I hate you!” said Catalina, but she forgot him in a moment.