"Mr. Richard Gordon? I understand this gentleman's name to be Muir," she made voice gently.
Dick laughed with a touch of shame. Now once in his life he wished he could prove an alibi. For, under the calm judgment of that steady gaze, the thing he had done seemed scarce defensible.
"Don Manuel has it right, señorita. Gordon is my name; Muir, too, for that matter. Richard Muir Gordon is what I was christened."
The underlying red of her cheeks had fled and left them clear olive. One might have thought the scornful eyes had absorbed all the fire of her face.
"So you have lied to me, sir?"
"Let me lay the facts before you, first. That's a hard word, señorita."
"You gave your name to me as Muir, You imposed yourself on my hospitality under false pretenses. You are only a spy, come to my house to mole for evidence against me."
"No—no!" he cried sharply. "You will remember that I did not want to come. I foresaw that it might be awkward, but I did not foresee this."
"That you would be found out before you had won your end? I believe you, sir," she retorted contemptuously.
"I see I'm condemned before I'm heard."