"Spoken like an Englishman and a diplomatist," exclaimed the voice that had so thrilled me on the preceding night; and, turning, I saw Sarita had entered the room unperceived. "You would make poor conspirators, you two, for you've been plotting against me with an open door," she added, coming forward.
She looked even more lovely than on the previous night, and she gave me as warm a welcome as had Madame Chansette—put both her hands into mine and held them, without a touch of self-consciousness, as she gazed frankly and searchingly into my eyes. She appeared satisfied with a scrutiny that was rather embarrassing to me, and smiled as she withdrew her hands.
"Yes, I am glad you have come, cousin Ferdinand. I suppose I may call him cousin Ferdinand, aunt Mercedes? I don't know how you do in more formal England, but we Spaniards are quicker in the use of the Christian name," she added to me. "I wanted to look closely at you. It is a new thing for me to have a male relation who may be a friend—or an enemy, such as my dearest aunt here. I have only Ramon, whose friendship is more dangerous at times than another man's enmity would be; and my other cousin, Sebastian Quesada." The tone in which she uttered the name was intensely significant. "Yes, yes, I am satisfied. I am glad you have come. You are true. You trusted me instinctively last night; and I will trust you always. My impressions are never wrong. But you will not find me tractable any the more for that; I mean in my dear, dear, dearest aunt's sense of the word," and she kissed the little old lady once for each of the epithets.
"I will try to deserve your words of welcome, cousin Sarita," I said earnestly, but conscious of a clogging tongue.
"I hope so—for you are one of those men who always succeed when they really try. But you have already promised to serve this dear, dreadful, tyrannous, loving enemy of mine. So take care;" and she laughed softly as she was bending over Madame Chansette and settling her more comfortably in her chair. "You are to show that 'capable man's head' which aunt Mercedes is never tired of declaring is so much needed in our affairs." She sat down close to Madame Chansette and took her hand. "I am a sad rebel, am I not, little tyrant?"
"If I didn't love you so much, I should be a far better guide for you, child," was the simply-spoken reply.
"Aye, with a love as sweet and tolerant and true as a mother's," said Sarita, softly. "So sweet that it makes even rebellion like mine difficult and hard at times. You must know, cousin Ferdinand, that we are a most divided pair. In all but our love—which nothing can ever disturb or threaten—we are like the poles, so far apart are our tastes, our principles, our ways, our aims, our lives, everything. You can think, therefore, how we have discussed you. At first aunt Mercedes said Lord Glisfoyle would come; and then I was not interested. I knew what a man of his years would say to me; and there was nothing before me but flat, dogged rebellion. But when we knew that he was not coming, and you were to come in his place—ah, that was different indeed. I warned my dearest that her last hope was gone; that youth—even diplomatic youth—would side with youth, and that if she looked to you for help in her plans, she would be disappointed. We discussed you, analysed you, weighed you, thought of you, talked of you, and, I think, each resolved to win you. I did;" and she smiled frankly.
"Sarita!" exclaimed Madame Chansette, protestingly. "You must have mercy on Mr. Carbonnell. He does not know you."
"I will have no mercy where he is concerned. You would not have me spare you the truth, or hide how much we were interested in you?" she cried to me. "Why should you not know how much you have been in our thoughts, seeing how much you were to influence our lives? I will deal with you perfectly frankly."
"I may hold you to that pledge," I interposed.