Alvarado lifted his hand and pointed through the window to the stars. "The golden coals in the blue fire of heaven are not higher above censure," he said.
Doña Modeste raised her eyebrows. "Coals are safest when burned on the domestic hearth and carefully watched; safer still when they have fallen to ashes."
"What is this rumor of pirates on the coast?" demanded Alvarado, abruptly.
I put my hand through Estenega's arm and drew him aside. The music of the contradanza was playing, and we stood against the wall.
"Well, you know Chonita better since that dance," I said to him. "Polar stars are not unlikely to have volcanoes. Better let the deeps alone, my friend; the lava might scorch you badly. Women of complex natures are interesting studies, but dangerous to love. They wear the nerves to a point, and the tired brain and heart turn gratefully to the crystalline, idle-minded woman. She is too much like yourself, Diego. And you,—how long could you love anybody? Love with you means curiosity."
His face looked like chalk for a moment, an indication with him of suppressed and violent emotion. Then he turned his head and regarded me with a slight smile. "Not altogether. You forget that the most faithless men have been the most faithful when they have found the one woman. Curiosity and fickleness are merely parts of a restless seeking,—nothing more."
"I was sure you would acquit yourself with credit! But you have an unholy charm, and you never hesitate to exert it."
He laughed outright. "One would think I was a rattlesnake. My unholy charm consists of a reasonable amount of address born of a great weakness for women and some personal magnetism,—the latter the offspring of the habit of mental concentration—"
"And an inexorable will—"
"Perhaps. As to the exercise of it—why not? Vive la bagatelle!"