In the Name of the People

by Arthur W. Marchmont

I thought long and carefully over her manner at that point. She had thrown off her agitation with an effort and passed at once to the opposite extreme of indifference; she had plunged into a discussion of conventional trivialities of no interest to either of us, and had deftly fended off my attempts to refer to our former relations until she herself had mentioned them in a way that implied they were past and buried. And she had followed this with the news of the engagement.

The object might have been to spare us both from embarrassment. But I read more in it. That she should try to spare me pain was as natural as is the light when the sun shines. But she had not spared me. She would know that to refer to it in the light tone she had used would add to the shock; and there had not been a word of preparation and not one of regret.

Why?

I thought I could see the reason. She wished me to believe her heartless and unfeeling. She had regretted her involuntary agitation on learning the truth, lest I should believe she really cared. She had then acted designedly and with the set purpose of making me believe she had entirely forgotten the Paris episodes, could speak of them with complete indifference, and was happy in her engagement.

Again, why?

And again I thought I could see her reason. She felt there were circumstances behind her betrothal to Sampayo which shut out the possibility of its being broken and she wished to drive home that conviction upon me. She could not tell me what the facts and influences were which had decided her; so she deliberately blackened herself in my eyes, posing as a jilt who had first encouraged me to hope and had then thrown me over with a laugh and a careless toss of the head.

But I knew her too well to accept any such self-caricature as a true portrait, even without the help of all I had heard from Inez, from Barosa, and from the viscontesse.

Was it too late now to win? It might be; but it certainly was not too late to make a big effort. And such an effort I would make at once. If she had compromised herself in this wretched conspiracy business so far as to be under the thumb of Barosa and his associates, her very safety demanded that I should strive with might and main to break the power they held over her and set her free from it.

But my fear was that some other compelling influence was at work; and I looked to find it in her home. It was not the viscontesse, I was certain of her; but I knew very little yet of the visconte and nothing at all of the brother, Vasco, except that he was infatuated with Inez and was being properly fooled by her. I made my promised visit to the viscontesse on the following afternoon hoping to be able to resume the thread of the conversation at the reception. But no opportunity offered. She had some friends and I could not get a word with her alone; and Miralda did not come in until just as I was leaving.

But I learnt something from the conversation. It concerned mainly the personal side of the political situation. Every one had a grievance against M. Franco, the Dictator. In his zeal for economy he had swept away a host of sinecure positions about the Court; and had thus made enemies not only of every one who had been paid for doing nothing and their friends and relatives, but also of all who had been looking forward to such payments.