ke. They
were beyond earshot of the house. "But why should I be an enemy of Marcos
de Sarrion?"

Then Juanita unmasked her guns.

"Because he outwitted you and married me," she answered.

"For your money--"

"Yes, for my money. He was quite honest about it, I assure you. He told
me that it was a matter of business--of politics. That was the word he
used."

"He told you that?" asked Mon in real surprise.

Juanita nodded her head. She was looking at her own slipper again and the
moving foot within it. There was a mystic little smile at the corner of
her lips which tilted upwards there, as humorous and tender lips nearly
always do. It suggested that she knew something which even Evasio Mon,
the all-wise, did not know.

"And you believed him?" inquired Mon, dimly groping at the meaning of the
smile.

"He told me that it was the only way of escaping you ... and the rest of
them ... and Religion," answered Juanita--without answering the question.

"And you believed him?" repeated Mon, which was a mistake; for she turned
on him at once and answered,

"Yes."

Mon shrugged his shoulders with the tolerant air of one who has met
defeat time after time; who expected naught else perhaps.

"Then there is nothing more to be said," he observed carelessly. "You
elect to remain at Torre Garda. I bow to your decision, my child. I have
warned you."

"Against Marcos?"

Mon shrugged his shoulders a second time.

"And in reply to your warning," said Juanita slowly. "I will tell you
that Marcos has never done or said anything unworthy of a Spanish
gentleman--and there is no better gentleman in the world."

Which statement all men will assuredly be ready to admit.

Mon turned and looked at her with an odd smile.

"Ah!" he said. "You have fallen in love with Marcos."

Juanita changed colour and her eyes suddenly lighted with anger.

"I am not afraid of anything you may say or do," she said. "I have
Marcos. Marcos has always outwitted you when you have come in contact
with him. Marcos is cleverer than you. He is stronger."

She paused. Mon was slowly drawing his gloves through his hands which
were white and smooth.

"That is the difference between you," she continued. "You wear gloves.
Marcos takes hold of life with his bare hand. You may be more cunning,
but Marcos outwits you. The mind seeks but the heart finds. Your mind may
be subtle--but Marcos has a better heart."

Mon had risen. He stood with his face half tu