“Damn your honor!” he shrieked. “You take your orders from me! Go to the meeting-place!”
Struggling, not only in the arms of Caldwell but in those of Pulido and the valet, Vega was borne to the terrace. As he was pushed from the window he stretched out his arm toward Roddy.
“When we meet again,” he cried, “I kill you!”
Roddy looked after him with regret. More alarming to him than the prospect of a duel was the prospect of facing Señora Rojas. For the moment Vega and his personal danger had averted the wrath that Roddy knew was still to come, but with the departure of Vega he saw it could no longer be postponed. He turned humbly to Señora Rojas. The scene through which that lady had just passed had left her trembling; but the sight of Roddy confronting her seemed at once to restore her self-possession. Anxiously, but in a tone of deep respect, Roddy addressed her:
“I have the great honor,” he said, “to inform——”
After one indignant glance Señora Rojas turned from him to her daughter. Her words sounded like the dripping of icicles.
“You will leave the room,” she said. She again glanced at Roddy. “You will leave the house.”
Not since when, as a child, he had been sent to stand in a corner had Roddy felt so guilty. And to his horror he found he was torn with a hysterical desire to laugh.
“But, Madame Rojas,” he protested hastily, “it is impossible for me to leave until I make clear to you——”
In the fashion of the country, Señora Rojas clapped her hands.