The Indian was watched in a breathless silence. It was as if all were trying to understand what he wished to convey. Then, as swiftly as he had come, the dancer disappeared and the discordant notes of music died away.

There was riotous applause and, as soon as she could make herself heard, Skye asked of El Diablo,

“What did that dance mean?”

“So many people have asked what the Indians mean in their ceremonial dances,” he replied. “There are a thousand theories and no one knows for certain. This one may have been the worship of the sun, the invoking of the spirits, a prayer for fertility, who knows? Least of all the man who has just danced it. The origin is lost even as much of their craftsmanship has been lost through injustice and indifference.”

Skye was silent and then, because there had been a sadness in his voice as if the Indians’ plight affected him, she enquired speaking with an impersonal pleasantness,

“What are the people drinking?”

“The Indians are drinking their own wine,” he answered, “which is a fermentation of sweet potatoes, corn, yama and manioc. It is very potent, as you will see presently. Most of the Mariposans are drinking something called ‘refresco de vino’. It is red wine mixed with orange juice and sugar.”

He smiled as he spoke and Skye suddenly thought how wonderful it would be if she had just met this man as an ordinary acquaintance. He knew all the things she wanted to know about the country. If only they could have met and talked without being involved in so many tremendous overpowering and terrifying emotions!

Impulsively she bent forward.

“Tell me more!” she said.

He turned to look at her.

Her eyes were alight with interest and her face animated and exquisite in the light from the fire. In her expensive dress and glittering earrings she might have been a creature from another world and as if the thought of this aroused some dark memory within him, El Diablo’s eyes were hard as he said,

“Why? So that you can jeer at their simplicity?”

“No, of course not. How could you think such a thing?” Skye replied indignantly, surprised into being hurt at such a suggestion.

“Why, then?”

“Because this is what I have always wanted to see, to learn about and to know. If these people are simple – it is because they don’t pretend, their enjoyment is real, and this is so very very different from the empty dullness of social parties and the boredom of social people.”

Skye’s voice throbbed with sincerity and it seemed that the hardness in El Diablo’s eyes softened.

“Now we have the Fandango,” he said. “I will tell you about it afterwards.”