"You know," Marcos explained with an odd ring of excitement in his voice. "I am afraid we shall have a bad name all over Spain after this. They always did think that we were only brigands. It will be difficult to get anybody to come here."
Juanita made no answer to this. Sarrion was reading the paper very attentively. But it was he who spoke first.
"I must go to Saragossa," he said, without looking up from his paper. "Perhaps Juanita will take compassion on my solitude there."
"I always feel that it is a pity to go away from Torre Garda just as the spring is coming," said she, conversationally. "Don't you think so?"
She glanced at Marcos as she spoke, but the remark must have been addressed to Sarrion, whose reply was inaudible. For some reason the two men seemed ill at ease and tongue-tied. There was a dull glow in Marcos' eyes. Juanita was quite cool and collected and mistress of the situation.
"You know," said Marcos at length in his direct way, "that it is only of your happiness that I am thinking--you must do what you like best."
"And you know that I subscribe to Marcos' polite desire," said Sarrion with a light laugh.
"I know you are an old dear," answered Juanita, jumping up and throwing aside her book. "And now I am going to bed."
She kissed Sarrion and smoothed back his gray hair with a quick and light touch.
"Good-night, Marcos," she said as she passed the door which he held open. She gave him the friendly little nod of a comrade--but she did not look at him.