Mon shrugged his shoulders a second time.
"And in reply to your warning," said Juanita slowly. "I will tell you that Marcos has never done or said anything unworthy of a Spanish gentleman--and there is no better gentleman in the world."
Which statement all men will assuredly be ready to admit.
Mon turned and looked at her with an odd smile.
"Ah!" he said. "You have fallen in love with Marcos."
Juanita changed colour and her eyes suddenly lighted with anger.
"I am not afraid of anything you may say or do," she said. "I have Marcos. Marcos has always outwitted you when you have come in contact with him. Marcos is cleverer than you. He is stronger."
She paused. Mon was slowly drawing his gloves through his hands which were white and smooth.
"That is the difference between you," she continued. "You wear gloves. Marcos takes hold of life with his bare hand. You may be more cunning, but Marcos outwits you. The mind seeks but the heart finds. Your mind may be subtle--but Marcos has a better heart."
Mon had risen. He stood with his face half turned away from her so that she could only see his profile. And for a moment she was sorry for him; that one moment which always mars an earthly victory.