. . . Lisa felt, this morning, that it had all the color and the romance of the ages, and it was a color and romance that had got into her blood. The thought that depressed her was that soon — all too soon — she would have to get it out of her blood, and when that time arrived she would have to say a final good-bye to it all. Watching her across the table, and the check cloth, her employer seemed intrigued by those revealing, and yet unrevealing, expressions on her face. ‘You told me the other day that you still like San Cecilio,’ he said. ‘Is that one reason why you are apparently quite willing to perform errands for Senora Cortina when she finds herself in imminent danger of running out of something vital to her culinary needs?’ Lisa smiled. ‘Senora Cortina is not really as careless as all that, and she’s the most wonderful cook I’ve ever known. Now that I’m getting used to Spanish dishes I realize that more and more every day.’ ‘And now that you are getting used to Spain, and the Spanish way of life, how do you feel about that?’ ‘I------‘ She looked at him for an instant, and then away.
