“Oh, no, Señora!” cried Carlota. “Stay until to-morrow. Oh, yes, stay until to-morrow, with me.”
“They will expect us home,” she said, wavering.
“Ah, no! I can send a boy to say you will come to-morrow. Yes? You will stay? Ah, good, good!”
And she laid her hand caressively on Kate’s arm, then rose to hurry away to the servants.
Cipriano had taken out his cigarette case. He offered it to Kate.
“Shall I take one?” she said. “It is my vice.”
“Do take one,” he said. “It isn’t good, to be perfect.”
“It isn’t, is it?” she laughed, puffing her cigarette.
“Now would you call it peace?” he asked with incomprehensible irony.
“Why?” she cried.