"You have condemned me unheard," with a gesture of despair.
"Not I, senor, but yourself. The choice lay before you, and you decided to flee from San Juan—from Elysium. You were unjust—for once in your life. You alone, senor, condemned, not I."
"But—was there no reason—I beg of you, I implore, an answer?"
"Senor, this is a house where danger lurks for you—a house where plots are nightly considered against your people. It would be better for you to go away lest some of these hot headed Spanish sympathizers set eyes on you."
"Let them go to the devil—what care I for all the Spaniards in Christendom. I shall stay here just as long as I like—as long as you allow me."
"Ah! senor, but you did not always exhibit that same spirit—there was one Spaniard you feared worse than Satan does holy water."
The spirit of coquetry ever lives in woman, and this girl could not resist giving poor Owen a little thrust even while her heart was wonderfully stirred by his presence.
"Yes, Julio, the handsome bolero dancer, who had once been a famous toreador in Spain. As I hope for salvation I believe you favored his advances—you laughed at me when a denial was what I asked. Words followed, for my part in which may Heaven forgive me, and we parted in hot anger, we two who had been all in all to each other. Georgia, will you answer that question now?" he asked, holding her eyes enthralled by his eager gaze.
She did not speak, only put out her hand and plucked him by the sleeve.
It was only a gentle pull, but to Roderic Owen the power of a giant steam engine could not exert greater force.