“Then he will marry this other one?” she said suddenly.
“Oh, no. Already he neglects her. We think she will go back.”
Zahara experienced a swift change of sentiment. She seemed to be compounded of two separate persons, one of whom laughed cruelly at the folly of the other.
“What is the name of this man you think your friend has recognized?” she asked.
The big stick was rapping furiously during this colloquy.
“We are both sure, Senorita. His name is Major Spalding.”
That Spalding and Grantham were neighbouring towns in Lincolnshire Zahara did not know, but:
“No one of that name comes here,” she replied.
“The one you heard and—who has gone—is not called by that name.” She spoke with forced calm. It was Grantham they sought! “But what happens if I show you this one who is not called Spalding?”
“No matter! Point him out to me,” answered the Spaniard eagerly—and his dark eyes seemed to be on fire—“point him out to me and fifty pounds of English money is yours!”