which he would have to pass to go into the garden. She had undone her
luxuriant hair, and had put on a languishing look, and every now and
then thrummed absently on her guitar, humming gently to herself as she
fixed her black eyes upon him. Salvé saw himself in a manner besieged,
and felt half inclined to brush past her and escape into the garden; but
it would have seemed too deliberately unfriendly. The only sign which
betrayed his consciousness of the situation was the somewhat hasty way
in which he puffed his cigarette.

"You really mean to leave us?" she said at last sadly, in almost a
beseeching tone.

"Yes, señorita," was the reply, and evidently it came from the bottom of
his heart; he was angry, and weary of her importunity.

He had hardly said it before, thrusting her hand into her bosom, she had
sprung to her feet, and a stiletto whizzed past his ear, and stuck
quivering in the wall close to his head. Her supple body was still in
motion, her face was pale, and her eyes were flashing: then with a
sudden transition she threw herself back and laughed.

"Were you frightened?" she cried. But Salvé showed no sign of it. He was
provoked, but cool; and not being the kind of man who would deign to
engage in a conflict with a woman, he left the stiletto sticking in the
wall, though at first he had thought of seizing it.

"Look here!" she said, suddenly darting over and drawing it out, and
then practising with it, laughing all the while, at various spots on the
walls of the room, which she hit every time to a nicety.