CHAPTER XIX
THE DANGEROUS SEÑORITA
Some days after Maxwell's departure Monsieur Victor Rideau, traveling in hot haste, arrived at Castro's factory. Dom Pedro was absent in the bush, but his daughter frowned when she saw the visitor coming. She was standing on the veranda where she had bidden Maxwell farewell; and this fact recalled the contrast between them, which was distinctly striking, and to Monsieur Rideau's disadvantage. Maxwell wore an indefinite air of refinement, which is the birthright of some favored Britons, and there was a good deal of finely-tempered steel in his composition; Rideau was by no means ill-favored, and as usual with gentlemen of his extraction, dressed himself almost too well; but his face was sensual, his black hair over-crisp, and, in spite of his very cunning eyes, there were other signs that his animal appetites might on occasion prove stronger than his judgment.
When he descended from his hammock, attired in spotless duck and American brown shoes, he was evidently well contented with himself.
"I compassionate you on your misfortune," said Miss Castro. "My father may not return until midnight, and you will have only myself and my aunt, who is always sleepy, for company."
"What better could any man desire?" There was a look of the African in Rideau's over-bold eyes, and the girl regarded him frigidly. "I go east by the steamer which will call to-night," he continued, "and hurried for the pleasure of a few hours of your company. The English adventurer has called here, is it not so?"
That was sufficient warning, and Bonita Castro prepared for the fray. The weapons she chose in the first place were merely demure glances and opportune smiles; and though many of his speeches stung her pride to the quick, she fooled Monsieur Rideau cleverly, and extracted from him more information than he meant to impart. Still, when the black major-domo set out the comida and Miss Castro withdrew, the visitor might have lounged less complacently on the veranda had he seen her kneeling, with a face that was stamped with hatred, beside the factory medicine chest. She lifted a ribbed glass phial, and glanced at it earnestly, then let it fall back, took out another, and clutched at the chest, when she saw that the door had opened a little. Then, as the rustle of the palm-fronds suggested that the breeze was accountable for this, she slipped the bottle behind a vase on the window-sill, and went out softly. Hardly had she done so than the Señora Diaz entered silently, lifted the bottle, and read its label, and then, with a gesture which expressed both relief and perplexity, replaced it. The señora was much more observant than she seemed to be, and was by no means a friend of Victor Rideau.
It might have been better for Rideau had he reached the factory after dinner. He did not eat prettily, and Miss Castro had lived long enough in the Iberian peninsula to grow particular about small matters. Also, he drank freely, and while his voice grew louder his consonants lost their crispness. Rideau spoke several civilized languages, but that night he emphasized the vowels after the fashion of the negro. Though not excessively indulgent, Dom Pedro's old Madeira had awakened a side of his nature he usually kept in subjection, and perhaps it had slightly clouded his judgment. In any case, the Señora Diaz frowned at some of the compliments he paid her niece, and her ancient laces rustled as she stirred with indignation, for while compliments were common in her country, they were characterized by either a becoming deference or scintillating wit. Once or twice she glanced sharply at the girl, who was generally quite capable of resenting a liberty; but Bonita did not heed her. She was working for an end, and working skilfully. Perhaps she suffered during the process, but that was only part of the price of victory.
The comida was cleared away at length, and when Bonita accompanied her guest to the moonlit veranda, she made it manifest that she did not desire her aunt's company. Nevertheless the Señora Diaz, who respected the customs of the Peninsula, seated herself beside an open window and saw all that passed. Rideau lounged in a cane chair with a cigar in his hand, while Bonita stood upright, dropping morsels of ice presented by a steamboat purser into the bowl which rested on the little table at his side. A Frenchman would not have shown such lack of manners. Rideau's very leer, which grew more pronounced, conveyed a hint that he knew he held the whip hand, and meant to use it; with any one of Miss Castro's disposition, that was very bad policy.
"It is charming, señorita. I have done much for you; you do a little now for me."