"I am going to be very rude and objectionable again, Sarita, and ask you not to tell half a truth and then plume yourself on having said something particularly disagreeable;" and I laughed. "I decline to accept that explanation. The truth is that you have been very angry with me, and I think your anger has lasted long enough—far too long, indeed, for relatives and such friends as you and I must be."
"Insult is scarcely the badge which friendship wears," she exclaimed, changing to Spanish in her impetuosity.
"Good. That's a distinct improvement on your cold assumption of callous indifference. Whatever may be your real feeling for me, at least I am sure it is not indifference."
"No, I have told you; you have made yourself objectionable to me," she flashed with spirit.
"Because I told you I would thwart your wrongful intention in regard to the young King. I am still of the same mind."
"I told you you were no friend of mine from that minute, and should never set eyes on me again," she cried, vehemently.
"And here I am, nevertheless, looking at you with eyes of regret that you have treated me in this way."
"I could not prevent your forcing yourself upon me. I meant never with my consent; and I presumed you would observe the common decencies of conduct sufficiently not to force yourself upon me in this way."
"I am sure you never thought that if the chance came my way of seeing and speaking to you, I should be such a traitor to my own wishes as not to use it. But I am here, and have not come to quarrel. I have come with news that may interest even you—for it is bad news for me, and of much trouble."
She glanced at me, and seemed as if to repudiate the intentional ungenerosity of my words; but said nothing, and, shrugging her shoulders, turned away; and, after a moment's pause, substituted a retort, keeping her face averted.