"Then she must be made to go."
"Another 'must'!" he rejoined lightly. "I would remind you that she is mistress of her own actions. Neither you nor I can compel her to do anything she does not wish to do. It has been a great happiness to me that she has chosen as she has; it would have been a great sorrow to me had she decided differently. But I should have acquiesced. Now it is for you to acquiesce. After all, what claim have you upon her?"
"I admit that I have no claim," I said, more calmly. "But there is one who has a claim, and to whom she is bound to listen."
"You refer, no doubt, to that misguided young man who is now in prison."
"I refer to Frederic Swain, yes," I retorted hotly. "It is true he is in prison. And how did he get there? By coming when she called him; by trying to assist her."
"Was it assisting her to kill her father?" queried Silva, and his lips were curled with scorn.
I paused a moment to make sure of my self-control, for it seemed to be slipping from me.
"Señor Silva," I said, at last, "how her father came to his death I do not know; but I do know that Swain had no hand in it."
"Yet he is in prison," he reminded me.
"Innocent men have been in prison before this. I will get him out."