thing improper in my present. It seems that I have been annoying Gheta by my attentions, flattering her with pearls."
"Did Gheta tell you that?" Lavinia demanded. A growing resentment took possession of her. "Because if she did, she lied!"
"Ah!" Mochales whispered sharply.
"They're both mad," Orsi told her, "and should be dipped in the bay."
Never had Abrego y Mochales appeared handsomer; never more like fine bronze. That latter fact struck her forcibly. His face was no more mutable than a mask of metal. Its stark rigidity sent a cold tremor to her heart.
"And," she went on impetuously, "since Gheta said that, I'll tell you really about this necklace: Cesare gave it to her because he was sorry for her; because he thought that perhaps he had misled her. He spoke of it to me first."
"No, signora," the Spaniard responded deliberately; "it is not your sister who lies."
Cesare Orsi exclaimed angrily. He took a hasty step; but Lavinia, quicker, moved between the two men.
"This is impossible," she declared, "and must stop immediately! It is childish!"
There was now a metallic ring in Mochales' voice that disturbed her even more than his words. The bull-fighter, completely immobile, seemed a little inhuman; he was without a visible stir of emotion, but Orsi looked more puzzled and angry every moment.
"This," he ejaculated, "in my own house—infamous!"
