"Yes, for my money. He was quite honest about it, I assure you. He told me that it was a matter of business--of politics. That was the word he used."
"He told you that?" asked Mon in real surprise.
Juanita nodded her head. She was looking at her own slipper again and the moving foot within it. There was a mystic little smile at the corner of her lips which tilted upwards there, as humorous and tender lips nearly always do. It suggested that she knew something which even Evasio Mon, the all-wise, did not know.
"And you believed him?" inquired Mon, dimly groping at the meaning of the smile.
"He told me that it was the only way of escaping you ... and the rest of them ... and Religion," answered Juanita--without answering the question.
"And you believed him?" repeated Mon, which was a mistake; for she turned on him at once and answered,
"Yes."
Mon shrugged his shoulders with the tolerant air of one who has met defeat time after time; who expected naught else perhaps.
"Then there is nothing more to be said," he observed carelessly. "You elect to remain at Torre Garda. I bow to your decision, my child. I have warned you."
"Against Marcos?"