And yet she took the note when Jessica had completed it, and sent it by her own maid to the address upon the envelope.
It seemed to her that the hours would never pass between twelve and two, and yet when the announcement was made to her that Senor Meriaz was awaiting her in the library, she could not go down and face him. She loathed him with a passionate repulsion, and her whole nature rebelled at the interview that must follow, yet she nerved herself to it, and was stately in her calmness as she entered the room where he waited.
"You sent for me, senorita?" he said, bowing to her with the innate politeness of even the lowest Spaniard.
"Miss de Barryos," she corrected, calmly.
"Was I mistaken, or did Miss Chalmers tell me that you also were Mexican?"
"My father was a Mexican, not I. I do not know the country," answered the girl, who but a few short months ago had loved to hear tales of travel there, and had spoken the liquid, musical language with such delight. "I sent for you, Senor Meriaz, upon a most unpleasant errand."
"I can imagine nothing unpleasant connected with—Miss—de Barryos," he answered, watching her shiver curiously.
She took no notice of his words, but continued, even more coldly than before:
"By design, senor, I overheard the conversation between you and Mr. Pierrepont in this room."
"By design, senorita?"