There was a delicate expectancy in her manner that she nevertheless contrived to make compatible with her native modesty. Felipe had been her acknowledged lover ever since the two were children.
"Well?" cried Martiarena as Felipe hesitated.
Even then, if Felipe could have collected his wits, he might have saved the situation for himself. But no time had been allowed him to think. Confusion seized upon him. All that was clear in his mind were the last words of Rubia. It seemed to him that between his lips he carried a poison deadly to Buelna above all others. Stupidly, brutally he precipitated the catastrophe.
"No," he exclaimed seriously, abruptly drawing his hand from Buelna's, "no. It may not be. I cannot."
Martiarena stared. Then:
"Is this a jest, señor?" he demanded. "An ill-timed one, then."
"No," answered Felipe, "it is not a jest."
"But, Felipe," murmured Buelna. "But—why—I do not understand."
"I think I begin to," cried Martiarena. "Señor, you do not," protested Felipe. "It is not to be explained. I know what you believe. On my honour, I love Buelna."
"Your actions give you the lie, then, young man. Bah! Nonsense. What fool's play is all this? Kiss him, Buelna, and have done with it."