"I'm the one to say that, for I don't get you, Boye Mayer, I don't see
what you're up to. But sometimes I think you've just come snooping round
roe to find out something. You come and you go, always so curious, always
wanting to know, pussy-footing round with your questions and your
compliments. What's on your mind?"

Mayer found himself in an impasse. She knew him too well and she was too
angry to be diverted with the temporizing lightness of their early
acquaintance. There was only one thing to say to her, and--the cause of
her excitement plain to his informed mind--it was not difficult to say.

"Pancha," he pleaded, "you don't understand."

"You bet I don't and I want to. I'd like to have it explained--I'd like
to know what you hang round me for. Do you think I'm hiding something? Do
you think I'm a criminal?"

"I think you're the most charming girl in the world," he protested.

She gave a smothered sound of rage and started off, faster than ever,
down the street. This time he kept up with her, and rounding a corner the
two lamps at the foot of the Vallejo's steps loomed up close at hand.

"Stop," he said. "Wait." He had no idea the hotel was so near, and
surprised at the sight of it his voice became suddenly imperious and he
seized her arm with a dominating grip. She tried to jerk it away, but he
held it and drew her, stiff and averse, toward him.

"You foolish one," he whispered. "Why, don't you see? I hang around