“Of course, dear,” he said glibly, patting her lightly on the shoulder with his free hand. “You’ll be all right soon if you’ll take more exercise. You’re just a little bit inclined to the lazy—all you Spanish women are.”
She made no answer and he could feel her body trembling.
“Come, Lupé,” he said with a touch of urgency in his voice, “I must go, my dear girl. I’ve got something to do at half-past four.”
“Are you going to Miss Gracey’s?” she said without moving or loosening her hold of his hand.
“Oh, Lupé, dear,” he answered impatiently, “don’t let’s get on those subjects to-day. I’ve had such a nice time here with you this afternoon, just because you’ve been pleasant, and quiet and reasonable. Now don’t spoil it all by beginning to fight and find fault.”
She raised her head but still held his hand pressed against her heart.
“I’m not going to fight,” she said in a low tone, “my fighting days are over.”
“That’s the most sensible thing that I’ve heard you say for a long time. You’ve just worn yourself out by the way you’ve stormed and raged. That’s why you’ve felt so sick. It isn’t worth while.”
“No, I suppose not.” She looked up at him with eyes of gloomy tenderness, and opening her fingers one by one let him draw his hand away.
“You’re going to Miss Gracey’s?” she said again.