"How's your boy friend?"
"Damned well," Brett said. "Watch him this afternoon."
"Brett's got a bull-fighter," Mike said. "A beautiful, bloody bull-fighter."
"Would you mind walking over with me? I want to talk to you, Jake."
"Tell him all about your bull-fighter," Mike said. "Oh, to hell with your bull-fighter!" He tipped the table so that all the beers and the dish of shrimps went over in a crash.
"Come on," Brett said. "Let's get out of this."
In the crowd crossing the square I said: "How is it?"
"I'm not going to see him after lunch until the fight. His people come in and dress him. They're very angry about me, he says."
Brett was radiant. She was happy. The sun was out and the day was bright.
"I feel altogether changed," Brett said. "You've no idea, Jake."
"Anything you want me to do?"
"No, just go to the fight with me."
"We'll see you at lunch?"
"No. I'm eating with him."
We were standing under the arcade at the door of the hotel. They were carrying tables out and setting them up under the arcade.
"Want to take a turn out to the park?" Brett asked. "I don't want to go up yet. I fancy he's sleeping."
We walked along past the theatre and out of the square and along through the barracks of the fair, moving with the crowd between the lines of booths. We came out on a cross-street that led to the Paseo de Sarasate. We could see the crowd walking there, all the fashionably dressed people. They were making the turn at the upper end of the park.
"Don't let's go there," Brett said. "I don't want staring at just now."
