Salvé meanwhile was becoming rather tired of being on land. The seclusion had suited him well enough at first, until the señorita had begun to pay him attentions; but now that she evidently remained at home all day solely on his account, to dress at him, and play off all sorts of coquetry upon him, he began to find it intolerable; and when the Juno at last had sailed, he announced one day that he meant to go down to the harbour and look for employment.
The señorita turned pale, but soon recovered her self-possession, and even joked with him about it; and later on her brother persuaded him to defer his intention for three days, until he had attended a gathering of Federigo's friends, which was to take place one night down in one of the suburbs.
That evening, when her brother had gone out as usual to play, the señorita sat down in the window of the room where Salvé was, and through which he would have to pass to go into the garden. She had undone her luxuriant hair, and had put on a languishing look, and every now and then thrummed absently on her guitar, humming gently to herself as she fixed her black eyes upon him. Salvé saw himself in a manner besieged, and felt half inclined to brush past her and escape into the garden; but it would have seemed too deliberately unfriendly. The only sign which betrayed his consciousness of the situation was the somewhat hasty way in which he puffed his cigarette.
"You really mean to leave us?" she said at last sadly, in almost a beseeching tone.
"Yes, señorita," was the reply, and evidently it came from the bottom of his heart; he was angry, and weary of her importunity.
He had hardly said it before, thrusting her hand into her bosom, she had sprung to her feet, and a stiletto whizzed past his ear, and stuck quivering in the wall close to his head. Her supple body was still in motion, her face was pale, and her eyes were flashing: then with a sudden transition she threw herself back and laughed.
"Were you frightened?" she cried. But Salvé showed no sign of it. He was provoked, but cool; and not being the kind of man who would deign to engage in a conflict with a woman, he left the stiletto sticking in the wall, though at first he had thought of seizing it.
"Look here!" she said, suddenly darting over and drawing it out, and then practising with it, laughing all the while, at various spots on the walls of the room, which she hit every time to a nicety.
"You were frightened—confess that you were," she said, teasingly, sitting down opposite to him, heated with the exercise she had gone through. She gazed into his face with her cheek resting on her hand and her elbow on the table. "You were afraid; and now you are angry. The women in your country don't do such things!"
Salvé turned to her with a look of icy rebuff. "No, señorita," he replied, curtly, and went down into the garden.