open space.

Her arms and neck emerged plump and bare from a snowy chemisette; the
blue woollen skirt, with all the fullness gathered in front, scanty on
the hips and tight across the back, disclosed the provoking action of
her walk. She came straight on and laid her hand on the mare's neck with
a timid, coquettish look upwards out of the corner of her eyes.

"_Querido_," she murmured, caressingly, "why do you pretend not to see me
when I pass?"

"Because I don't love thee any more," said Nostromo, deliberately, after
a moment of reflective silence.

The hand on the mare's neck trembled suddenly. She dropped her head
before all the eyes in the wide circle formed round the generous, the
terrible, the inconstant Capataz de Cargadores, and his Morenita.

Nostromo, looking down, saw tears beginning to fall down her face.

"Has it come, then, ever beloved of my heart?" she whispered. "Is it
true?"

"No," said Nostromo, looking away carelessly. "It was a lie. I love thee
as much as ever."

"Is that true?" she cooed, joyously, her cheeks still wet with tears.

"It is true."

"True on the life?"

"As true as that; but thou must not ask me to swear it on the Madonna
that stands in thy room." And the Capataz laughed a little in response
to the grins of the crowd.

She pouted--very pretty--a little uneasy.

"No, I will not ask for that. I can see love in your eyes." She laid
her hand on his knee. "Why are you trembling like this? From love?" she
continued, while the cavernous thundering of the gombo went on without a
pause. "But if you love her as much as that, you must give your Paquita
a gold-mounted rosary of beads for the neck of her Madonna."

"No," said Nostromo, looking into her uplifted, begging eyes, which
suddenly turned stony with surprise.

"No? Then what else will your worship give me on the day of the fiesta?"
she asked, angrily; "so as not to shame me before all these people."

"There is no shame for thee in getting nothing from thy lover for once."

"True! The shame is your worship's--my poor lover's," she flared up,
sarcastically.

Laughs were heard at her anger, at her retort. What an audacious
spitfire she was! The people aware of this scene were calling out
urgently to others in the crowd. The circle round the silver-grey mare
narrowed slowly.

The girl went off a pace or two, confronting the mocking curiosity of
the eyes, then flung back to the stirrup, tiptoeing, her enraged face
turn