Part 10 (1/2)

It was clearly the conviction of her heart; and she seized a mandolin and began to dance to her own accompaniment, her eyes resting as she did so upon Salve with a peculiar expression.

”Quick, Federigo!--why not this evening?” she cried, breaking off suddenly with a laugh, and throwing the mandolin from her on to the sofa. ”To-morrow his luck may be gone.”

She seized her brother's hat, crushed it down upon his head, and pushed him eagerly out of the door, going with him herself to open the wicket.

She came back then to Salve, and as they sat _tete-a-tete_ in the lamplit room with doors and windows thrown wide open, the moonlight gleaming on the dark trees outside, and the night air perfumed with the scent of flowers, she endeavoured to ingratiate herself with him by pouring out his rum-and-water and by rolling his cigarettes, an art in which it appeared from her laughter and gestures that she thought him awkward. She was in a state of feverish excitement, and kept darting off to the wicket and back again.

Salve sat and smoked, and sipped his gla.s.s unconcernedly, whilst she rocked herself backwards and forwards in a rocking-chair, with her head thrown back, and her eyes steadily fixed upon him. He heard a sigh, and she said in a low, ingratiating tone--

”I am afraid Federigo is unlucky.”

Salve was not so stupid as not to comprehend her meaning. He was quite aware that she was handsome as she sat there with her hand on her knee, and her well-formed foot gracefully brought into view; but his feeling was exclusively one of indignation that such a common Brazilian baggage should presume to bring herself into comparison with Elizabeth. He flung away his cigar impatiently, and went down into the garden, without attempting to conceal his aversion. He hated all women since the one he had fixed his heart on had disappointed him, and he strode backwards and forwards now in more than usual indignation against the s.e.x.

He was still pacing the garden when Federigo came back, heated and triumphant, with his cloak on his shoulder and a bag under his arm.

”Nearly three hundred piastres!” he cried, clearing the garden in a succession of bounds.

His sister had been asleep on the sofa, and sprang up in ecstasy at the intelligence; and they proceeded then with childish glee to spread out the silver on the table, and divide it into three. When Salve absolutely refused to take more than his one piastre back again, there came actually a look of humble admiration into the senorita's eyes. She could not comprehend such an act of self-sacrifice, although she seemed to vaguely feel that there was something n.o.ble about it. After a moment's consideration she held out her hand and said--

”Senor, give me the piastre you have in your hand, and I will give you another in return for it.”

He did so, and she took it and kissed it repeatedly.

”I shall play with this one to-morrow evening,” she cried joyfully, and put it into her bosom.

She carried out her intention, and came home beaming, with a whole bagful of piastres.

It seemed that the family lived only by play. The son, it is true, was in connection with one or other of the political parties of the town, with the prospect of an appointment as officer in a volunteer corps if any rising took place; but that did not in the meantime bring in money, and how they managed to get along when luck went against them it was not easy to see.

Salve meanwhile was becoming rather tired of being on land. The seclusion had suited him well enough at first, until the senorita had begun to pay him attentions; but now that she evidently remained at home all day solely on his account, to dress at him, and play off all sorts of coquetry upon him, he began to find it intolerable; and when the Juno at last had sailed, he announced one day that he meant to go down to the harbour and look for employment.

The senorita turned pale, but soon recovered her self-possession, and even joked with him about it; and later on her brother persuaded him to defer his intention for three days, until he had attended a gathering of Federigo's friends, which was to take place one night down in one of the suburbs.

That evening, when her brother had gone out as usual to play, the senorita sat down in the window of the room where Salve was, and through which he would have to pa.s.s to go into the garden. She had undone her luxuriant hair, and had put on a languis.h.i.+ng look, and every now and then thrummed absently on her guitar, humming gently to herself as she fixed her black eyes upon him. Salve 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, senorita,” 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 flas.h.i.+ng: then with a sudden transition she threw herself back and laughed.

”Were you frightened?” she cried. But Salve 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.

”You were frightened--confess that you were,” she said, teasingly, sitting down opposite to him, heated with the exercise she had gone through. She gazed into his face with her cheek resting on her hand and her elbow on the table. ”You were afraid; and now you are angry. The women in your country don't do such things!”

Salve turned to her with a look of icy rebuff. ”No, senorita,” he replied, curtly, and went down into the garden.

Thereupon she seized the guitar again, and began strumming an accompaniment apparently to her thoughts. It was no longer lively music she played, but something of a menacing strain, in keeping with the look in her eyes, and she seemed in a manner to hiss the air through her teeth.