She shrugged off her disappointment. It's getting late. Getting dinner at six here should be no problem. They set out again. This time the pace was less leisurely, and though no pace in Mexico save that of the cabbies could rightly be called frantic, it became closer to that when they asked a passing gentleman and found that they'd gone three blocks in the wrong direction.
People never give directions like that in the States.
They were still enough on time that she could laugh at his joke before they went on. They found the restaurant two blocks to the right of the hotel's front door. With no time for appetizers, they settled on main dishes, he the meatballs, she the fish. The waiter gave them one of those sideways looks, but they didn't have time to discuss it. We should be able to catch a cab and be over at the Palacio by eight.