‘Most suspicious.’
There was a silence, during which Concha sneezed twice with enjoyment and more noise than is usually considered necessary.
‘And your letter,’ he said, carefully folding his handkerchief into squares; ‘that anonymous letter of warning that your life is threatened—is that true? It is the talk of Ronda.’
‘Ah, that!’ laughed Vincente. ‘Yes, it is true enough. It is not the first time—a mere incident, that is all.’
‘That which the Señora Barenna said just now,’ observed the priest slowly, ‘about our English friend—may be true. Sometimes thoughtless people arrive at a conclusion which eludes more careful minds.’
‘Yes—my dear Padre—yes.’
The two grey-headed men looked at each other for a moment in silence.
‘And yet you trust him,’ said Concha.
‘Despite myself, despite my better judgment, my dear friend.’
The priest rose and went to the window which overlooked the garden.