THE BRIDGE OF SAN LUIS REY
That’s not Spanish of you.”—meaning ‘⟨courteous⟩.’—“Which are you, Manuel or Esteban?”
“Manuel.”
“It doesn’t matter. You are both unfriendly. Neither of you ever comes to see me. Here I sit learning stupid lines all day and no one ever comes to see me but a lot of peddlers. It is because I am an actress, no?”
This was not very artful, but for Manuel it was unspeakably complicated. He merely stared at her from the shadows of his long hair and left her to improvise.
“I am going to engage you to write a letter for me, a very secret letter. But now I can see that you don’t like me and that to ask you to write a letter would be as good as reading it aloud in all the wine-shops. What does that look mean, Manuel? Are you my friend?”
“Yes, señora.”
“Go away. Send me Esteban. You do not even say Yes, señora as a friend would say it.”
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