CHAP: II. TEA-PARTY IN TLACOLULA.
Owen came back to the hotel at about half-past six, tired, excited, a little guilty, and a good deal distressed at having let Kate go alone. And new the whole thing was over, rather dreary in spirit.
"Oh, how did you get on?" he cried, the moment he saw her, afraid almost like a boy of his own sin of omission.
"I got on perfectly. Went to Sanborn’s for tea, and had strawberry short-cake—so good!"
"Oh, good for you!" he laughed in relief. "Then you weren’t too much overcome! I’m so glad. I had such awful qualms after I’d let you go. Imagined all the things that are supposed to happen in Mexico—chauffeur driving away with you into some horrible remote region, and robbing you and all that—but then I knew really you’d be all right. Oh, the time I had—the rain!—and the people throwing things at my bald patch—and those horses—wasn’t that horrible?—I wonder I’m still alive.” And he laughed with tired excitement, putting his hand over his stomach and rolling his eyes.
"Aren’t you drenched?" she said.
“Drenched!" he replied. "Or at least I was. I’ve dried off quite a lot. My rain-coat is no good—I don’t know why I don’t buy another. Oh, but what a time! The rain streaming on my bald head, and the crowd behind throwing oranges at it. Then simply gored in my inside about letting you go alone. Yet it was the only bull-fight I shall ever see. I came then before it was over. Bud wouldn’t come. I suppose he’s still there.”
“Was it as awful as the beginning?" she asked.
“No! No! It wasn’t. The first was worst—that horse-shambles. Oh, they killed two more horses. And five bulls! Yes, a regular butchery. But some of it was very neat work; those toreadors did some very pretty feats. One stood on his cloak while a bull charged him.”
"I think,” interrupted Kate, "if I knew that some of those toreadors were going to be tossed by the bull, I’d go to see another bull-fight. Ugh, how I detest them! The longer I live the more loathesome the human species becomes to
me. How much nicer the bulls are!"
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