He would not speak. No, he--Miguel--would
contain himself; yes, he HAD mastered himself, but could he restrain
others? Ah, yes, OTHERS--that was it. Could he keep Manuel and Pepe and
Dominguez from talking to the milkman--that leaking sieve, that gabbling
brute of a Shipley, for whose sake she had cast off her old servant that
very day?
She looked at him with cold astonishment, but without fear. Was he drunk
with aguardiente, or had his jealousy turned his brain? He continued
gasping, but still pressing his hat against his breast.
Ah, he saw it all! Yes, it was to-day, the day he left. Yes, she had
thought it safe to cast Miguel off now--now that HE was gone!
Without in the least understanding him, the color had leaped to her
cheek, and the consciousness of it made her furious.
"How dare you?" she said, passionately. "What has that stranger to do
with my affairs or your insolence?"
He stopped and gazed at her with a certain admiring loyalty. "Ah! so,"
he said, with a deep breath, "the senora is the niece of her uncle.
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