“Because you were jealous of her, doubtless.”
“I think so. I think that was the only reason. I know, at least, that it is the only reason that I can give.”
“Did your mistress like her? Did she seem fond of her?”
“Yes—and no. Sometimes I thought she was fond of her, and there were times when I had an idea that she disliked her.”
“Describe one of the occasions when you had reason to think that your mistress disliked Isabel.”
“Miss Mercedes and I came in from the garden, together, through the side door, and we passed through the library into the drawing-room to leave some flowers in one of the vases there. Isabel was standing in the embrasure of one of the windows, in conversation with Mr. Orizaba. Miss Mercedes called to her, and ordered her to her room at once. Then she sent me out of the room, and I know that she said some sharp things to her cousin——”
“But Orizaba was not her cousin.”
“He was in a way, sir. A sixth or seventh cousin. She always spoke of him as her cousin. Later, she came to her room and rang for Isabel, and I heard her tell her that one more circumstance of that kind would incur instant dismissal from her service. That is all I heard her say about it, but the flash of Miss Mercedes’ eyes at the time made me think that underneath it all she heartily disliked Isabel. I may have been mistaken.”
“Did you often see Isabel and Orizaba together?”
“Quite often, sir. There was always a glance of mutual meaning between them when they believed themselves unobserved—and once, quite late at night, when I had stolen out of the house to the hammock when the others were in their beds, I saw them talking together on the piazza.”