Francie Again by Emily Hahn

will,” he said. “They’re a law-abiding people on the whole. But you don’t want to overdo it. I’m not thinking of danger, but it just doesn’t look well.”
    â€œOh, pooh,” said Francie.
    Maria and Ruy had taken Francie to her first bullfight, to watch a celebrated matador making his first appearance of the season. It was seven o’clock on Sunday evening when they brought her back to Estoril, and they came in for a farewell cup of coffee. Aunt Lolly was waiting. The hotel lounge was brilliant, crowded with holiday-makers. Motorists or residents, they were gaily dressed and having fun in their decorous way. There was never anything Sundaylike, as Francie knew it, on that day of the week in Portugal.
    â€œWhat was it like?” asked Mrs. Barclay, after they had ordered their coffee and cakes.
    Francie said, “Well … I feel all mixed up.”
    â€œShe really is mixed up,” Maria assured Mrs. Barclay. “She was torn two ways, all through the show.”
    â€œI was afraid she might faint,” said Ruy gravely. “English ladies do now and then. I cannot understand why they come to see it in the first place.”
    Francie said, “I wasn’t near fainting, truly. It didn’t seem that bad. The pageantry was marvelous! I kept wishing Penny could be with us because she loves the theater in great gobs, and that is what a bullfight is. But—well, I don’t know if I’d ever want to go again.”
    â€œIf you were to go only once again,” said Ruy, “you would become addicted.”
    â€œThen I won’t,” said Francie definitely. “Still, I had to see it once, to discover what all the talk is about. The thing is, you simply mustn’t begin to think about the bull. I know I should simply hate a Spanish fight. They’re much more cruel, with all the horses, and really killing the bull.”
    â€œSo, now you have done your duty,” said Ruy. “You have not come to Portugal in vain.”
    Francie looked at him suspiciously. She didn’t know how serious he might be. “I think on the whole I’ll go back to ballet,” she said. “I can enjoy that with a clear conscience.”
    â€œOh, how lucky you are! I would give anything,” said Maria, “for a whole season of ballet in New York. Some day I can do it again, perhaps.”
    Mrs. Barclay said, “Let’s hope you can visit Francie in New York soon, and have your fill of theater.”
    â€œIt is my dream,” said Maria.
    Francie had been biding her time all afternoon, waiting to make a request of Ruy. Now the time seemed to have come. “Speaking of dreams, aren’t you ever going to introduce me to Fontoura, or are you going to keep putting me off?” she demanded. She said in explanation to Aunt Lolly, “That’s Ruy’s friend with the art classes, you know. Ruy seems to think I’ll snub him, or do something else perfectly terrible. He’s afraid to take me to the school. Aren’t you, Ruy?”
    Ruy said carefully, “I don’t think you’ll snub him. It is rather the other way round. Fontoura is a serious man, who wishes his pupils to be serious as well.”
    â€œYou mean I’m not serious!”
    â€œI did not say that,” said Ruy. “Only, forgive me, it doesn’t sound like the sort of pupil Fontoura is interested in—a rich American girl on a visit to Estoril.” At sight of Francie’s hurt face he added hurriedly, “That is because he doesn’t know you. I will explain to him.” He looked into her eyes and repeated emphatically, “I will explain to him, Francesca. I know you are serious.”
    â€œThere!” Maria’s voice dispersed Francie’s embarrassment. “It is settled, if Ruy says he will do that. Fontoura will take his word for it.”
    The solemnity of the discussion rather depressed Francie. Of