Benicia saw the little glint in his dark eyes, but she met his gaze. She was clever enough to realize that there was only one course open to her.
"Ah," she said, "I almost think you know."
The man made a little gesture. "At least, I do not know how the affair concerns you."
Benicia sat down in the nearest chair, and a faint warmth crept into her face, for this was the last point she desired to make clear, and Dom Clemente's eyes were still fixed upon her. It was evident that he expected an answer, and it said a good deal for her courage that her voice was steady.
"You are aware that I have spoiled your plans?" she said.
"That," said Dom Clemente dryly, "is another matter. I am not sure that you have spoiled them. I would, however, like to hear your reasons for meddling with them."
It was the same question in a different guise, and she nerved herself to face it.
"The Señor Ormsgill is doing a very chivalrous thing," she said. "It is one in which he has my sympathy—one could almost fancy that he has yours, too."
This was a bold venture, but she saw the man's faint smile. "I have a duty here, and that counts for most," he said. "Then it was sympathy with this man Ormsgill that influenced you?"
"Not altogether. I hate the Chefe at San Roque. You know why that is natural, and, after all, it was you who had him sent there. Apart from that, is it not clear that he and the trader Herrero and Domingo play into each other's hands up yonder? The traffic they are engaged in is authorized, but the way in which it is carried out is an iniquity."