thing to the other people at his table, and stood up. He came over to our table. I stood up and we shook hands.
"Won't you have a drink?"
"You must have a drink with me," he said. He seated himself, asking Brett's permission without saying anything. He had very nice manners. But he kept on smoking his cigar. It went well with his face.
"You like cigars?" I asked.
"Oh, yes. I always smoke cigars."
It was part of his system of authority. It made him seem older. I noticed his skin. It was clear and smooth and very brown. There was a triangular scar on his cheek-bone. I saw he was watching Brett. He felt there was something between them. He must have felt it when Brett gave him her hand. He was being very careful. I think he was sure, but he did not want to make any mistake.
"You fight to-morrow?" I said.
"Yes," he said. "Algabeno was hurt to-day in Madrid. Did you hear?"
"No," I said. "Badly?"
He shook his head.
"Nothing. Here," he showed his hand. Brett reached out and spread the fingers apart.
"Oh!" he said in English, "you tell fortunes?"
"Sometimes. Do you mind?"
"No. I like it." He spread his hand flat on the table. "Tell me I live for always, and be a millionaire."
He was still very polite, but he was surer of himself. "Look," he said, "do you see any bulls in my hand?"
He laughed. His hand was very fine and the wrist was small.
"There are thousands of bulls," Brett said. She was not at all nervous now. She looked lovely.
"Good," Romero laughed. "At a thousand duros apiece," he said to me in Spanish. "Tell me some more."
