“‘Tell me,’ I said.
“‘Won’t it bore you?’ he replied. ‘After all, why should I bother other people with my woes. Oh, all right, I will if you like.
“‘Some months ago there came to the town where I am working a wealthy Spaniard and his wife. Their name was Hervada. He was a tall, lean, sour-faced old curmudgeon, and she one of the most beautiful young creatures you can imagine. You can guess what happened?’
“‘You fell in love with her, of course,’ I cried.
“‘From the moment I saw her,’ Jack replied.
“‘You got introduced,’ I said.
“‘Trust me,’ he laughed. ‘I found out where she lived, and the rest was so easy that before the end of the week I had dined with them, and also had had one clandestine meeting in the Park. At first her old villain of a husband suspected nothing. But it is infernally hard to keep up a pretence for long, when one is really madly consumed with passion. Eyes are sure indicators of what the heart feels, at least mine are, and when Hervada suddenly looked up and caught me gazing at his wife as if I could devour her, the cat was completely out of the bag. I give him credit for one thing, however: he took it very calmly. Despite his unprepossessing exterior he could at times be extremely courteous and dignified.
“‘You will oblige me by settling this matter in the way customary to gentlemen in this country,’ he said. ‘You must remember you are not in England now; you are in Mexico. Have you a revolver?’
“‘I am never without one,’ I replied.