"Is it a duty to bring trouble on a man who has done no wrong?"
Dom Clemente leaned forward with his arms on the table, and looked at her with a curious little smile.
"I almost think," he said reflectively, "if I was a great friend of this Englishman's I would prefer him to fall into the hands of—such a man as I am. In that case, he would, at least, be prevented from going back to the bush, which is just now unsafe for him."
Benicia felt her face grow hot under his steady gaze. "The difficulty is that there are men without scruples who would blame him for whatever trouble may be going on up yonder in the forest," she said. "You would have to listen to them. If their complaints were serious what would you do?"
"Ah," said Dom Clemente, "that is rather more than I can tell. When one is young one feels that he is always expected to do something. Afterwards, however, one becomes content to leave it to the others now and then. It is sometimes wiser to—look on. That may be my attitude in this case, but I am not sure that the affair is one that concerns you."
He made a little deprecatory gesture as he turned to the papers in front of him, and Benicia went out quietly. It was an affair that concerned her very much indeed, but she knew that Dom Clemente could be reticent, and she fancied that he had something in his mind. As it happened, this was the case with her. In the meanwhile he sat still, gazing thoughtfully at the sun-scorched town while he smoked another cigar. Then he rose with a little jerk of his shoulders, and buckling on his big sword went down the stairway.
When evening came he went off to the Palestrina with his daughter, her attendant Señora Castro, and one or two officials and their wives, and enjoyed an excellent dinner on board the yacht. He fancied Benicia was rather silent during part of it, and glanced at her once or twice, which she naturally noticed, and as the result of it roused herself to join in the conversation. Still, she was a trifle relieved when the dinner was over and Desmond led them up on deck. Clear moonlight streamed in between the awnings, and, as it happened, Desmond seated himself beside the rail at some distance from her Madeira chair. Twice she ventured to make him a little sign, which he apparently disregarded, but at last he rose and walked forward, and she turned to the black-robed Señora Castro, who had clung persistently to her side.
"The dew is rather heavy. I brought a wrap or two, but I think I left them in the saloon," she said.
The little portly lady waddled away, and a minute or two later Benicia rose languidly, and moved towards the companion door through which she had disappeared. Instead of descending the stairway, the girl slipped out by the other door, and flitted forward in the shadow of the deckhouse until she came upon Desmond standing beneath the bridge.
"You do not seem to notice things to-night. I signed to you twice," she said.