Elena, offended by the girl’s attitude, looked haughtily at her.
“Flor, perhaps,” she commented, “but a little too wild!”
And followed by her escort she rode on.
This brief conversation had been carried on in French, so that Celinda caught but a few words of it; but it was easy to guess that the marquesa had said something disparaging, and Celinda did not restrain her impulse to make a grimace at the intruder’s unconscious back.
The other riders then drew near, and the marqués ceremoniously greeted the young girl. Moreno, however, did not even see her, so intent was he in watching the group ahead. As for Richard Watson, he indicated by his manner that he intended riding on with the other members of the party; and he pretended not to understand Celinda’s perfectly obvious gestures.
She let him go on, though she wore an expression of childish annoyance. Suddenly, however, she repented of her meekness, and pulling on the reins, wheeled her horse around and followed the group.
As she rode, her right hand suddenly caught up the lassoo tied to the front of the saddle and threw it at the American ... a tug at the rope ... and Watson, to escape rolling out of the saddle, had to stop and turn his horse back; his companions meanwhile, rode on, unaware of his capture.
The thong still tight about his shoulders, Richard rode up to the girl; he was too much annoyed to free himself and ride away; better have it out!
“Come here,” she said smiling, as she drew in the rope. “Tell me what you mean by going around with that woman—without my permission!”