"What! could you not join their party? I wondered why you did not come to speak to—to me," said Dolores, "and I felt hurt—because I thought I might never see you again."
"Dolores," said Ashby, taking her hand in both of his, and drawing nearer to her, "I swear that at that time I'd have given my right arm to speak to you. But that devil of a tailor is my bitter enemy; and you saw the quarrel we had in the railway station at Madrid."
"Then you did not purposely—avoid me?" said Dolores, in a faltering voice.
"Oh, Dolores!" said Ashby, in a reproachful tone. He tried to draw her nearer, but Dolores would not allow it.
"I thought that I should like to say good-bye, and it seemed sad to have you appear to avoid me."
"By heavens, Dolores!" cried Ashby, "I had made up my mind to leave the train and follow you to Pampeluna."
Dolores sighed.
"You could not have left your English maiden," said she.
"I could—I would!" cried Ashby. "By heavens, I would! She is nothing to me—nothing better than a kitten. The moment you came, I understood all my feeling for her. It was nothing. Beside you, she sinks into utter insignificance. You, Dolores, are everything to me. I tell you, you are infinitely dearer to me than that—"
"Hush, señor," said Dolores; "I will not—I will—will—will not listen to one single, single word of this."