The sun had sunk behind the range when Clare Kenwardine stood, musing, on a balcony of the house. Voices and footsteps reached her across the roofs, for Santa Brigida was wakening from its afternoon sleep and the traffic had begun again in the cooling streets. The girl listened vacantly, as she grappled with questions that had grown more troublesome of late.
The life she led often jarred, and yet she could find no escape. She hoped she was not unnecessarily censorious and tried to argue that after all there was no great harm in gambling, but rarely succeeded in convincing herself. Then she had deliberately thrown in her lot with her father’s. When she first insisted on joining him in England, he had, for her sake, as she now realized, discouraged the plan, but had since come to depend upon her in many ways, and she could not leave him. Besides, it was too late. She had made her choice and must stick to it.
Yet she rebelled against the feeling that she had brought a taint or stigma upon herself. She had no women friends except the wives of one or two Spanish officials whose reputation for honesty was not of the best; the English and American women left her alone. Most of the men she met she frankly disliked, and imagined that the formal respect they showed her was due to her father’s hints. Kenwardine’s moral code was not severe, but he saw that his guests preserved their manners. Clare had heard the Spaniards call him muy caballero, and they knew the outward points of a gentleman. While she pondered, he came out on the balcony.
“Brooding?” he said with a smile. “Well, it has been very dull lately and we need cheering up. Suppose you send Mr. Fuller a note and ask him to dinner to-morrow? He’s sometimes amusing and I think you like him.”
Clare braced herself for a struggle, for it was seldom she refused her father’s request.
“Yes,” she said, “I like him, but it would be better if he didn’t come.”
Kenwardine gave her a keen glance, but although he felt some surprise did not try to hide his understanding of what she meant.
“It looks as if you knew something about what happened on his last visit.”
“I do,” Clare answered. “It was rather a shock.”
“One mustn’t exaggerate the importance of these things,” Kenwardine remarked in an indulgent tone. “It’s difficult to avoid getting a jar now and then, though I’ve tried to shield you as much as possible. Fuller’s young and high-spirited, and you really mustn’t judge his youthful extravagance too severely.”