Give me a cigarette now, padre; I'm dying to smoke." Peter produced his case.

"Don't call him 'padre' here," said Donovan; "you'll spoil his enjoyment." "A cigarette, Solomon, then," whispered Julie, as the other turned to beckon a _garcon_, flashing her eyes on him.
Peter resisted no longer.

"Don't," he said.

"Call me anything but that." It seemed to him that there was something inevitable in it all.

He did not formulate his sensations, but it was the lure of the contrast that won him.