"Allow?" she cried with a start, the glance of surprise ending in a smile.
"For one thing your family would bring pressure upon you," I answered, gravely.
"Family, again," and the smile deepened, and then died away, as she added, "But do you know what the marriage would mean to me?"
"I know what it would mean to Quesada. He would never live to lead you to the altar, Sarita."
"You would not do anything so mad?"
"I am not the only man in Madrid who would stop such a marriage. You have sown passion, the harvest may be death." For a moment she looked troubled, then her face cleared and grew very serious.
"You mean Juan Livenza. Yes, he is dangerous; but he is only a man; and after all Sebastian Quesada's man."
"Is Quesada more than a man, and proof against revenge?"
"I cannot tell you all there is in this; nor all that the marriage would mean to me." This perplexed me. Her face was almost stern as she spoke, and after a moment's pause, she exclaimed with a gesture of impatience and irresolution: "Don't question me. It must be."
"You have seen Quesada while I have been away." It was really a question, but I said it as though stating a fact.