“Well,” he said, “... since we have won.”

“Have you won?”

Sarrion glanced at her again.  Why did she not speak plainly, he was wondering.  In the subtler matters of life, women have a clearer comprehension and a plainer speech than men.  When they are tongue-tied—­the reason is a strong one.

“At all events Senor Mon does not know when he is beaten,” said Juanita, and the silence that followed was broken by the distant sound of firing.  They were fighting at the mouth of the valley.

“That is true,” admitted Sarrion.

“They say he is trapped in the valley—­as we are.”

“So I believe.”

“Will he come to Torre Garda?”

“As likely as not,” answered Sarrion.  “He has never lacked audacity.”

“If he comes I should like to speak to him,” said Juanita.

Sarrion wondered whether she intended to make Evasio Mon understand that he was beaten.  It was Mon himself who had said that the woman always holds the casting vote.

“At all events,” said Juanita, who seemed to have returned in her thoughts to the question of winning or losing.  “At all events, you played a bold game.”

“That is why we won,” said Sarrion, stoutly.

“And you did not heed the risks.”

“What risks?”

Juanita turned and looked at him with a little laugh of scorn.

“Oh, you do not understand.  Neither does Marcos.  I suppose men don’t.  You might have ruined several lives.”

“So might Evasio Mon,” returned Sarrion sharply.  And Juanita rather drew back as a fencer may flinch who has been touched.

Sarrion leant back in his chair and threw away the cigarette which he had not smoked.  Juanita had chosen her own ground and he had met her on it.  He had answered the question which she was too proud to ask.

And as he had anticipated, Evasio Mon came to Torre Garda.  It was almost dusk when he arrived.  Whether he knew that Marcos was not in his room, remained an open question.  He did not ask after him.  He was brought by the servant to the terrace where he found Cousin Peligros and Juanita.  Sarrion was in his study and came out when Mon passed the open window.

“So we are all besieged,” said the visitor, with his tolerant smile as he took a chair offered to him in the grand manner by Cousin Peligros, who belonged to the school of etiquette that holds it wrong for any lady to be natural in the presence of men other than of her own family.

Cousin Peligros smiled in rather a pinched way, and with a gesture of her outspread hands morally wiped the besiegers out.  No female Sarrion, she seemed to imply, need ever fear inconvenience from a person in uniform.

“You and I, Senorita,” said Mon, with his bland and easy sympathy of manner, “have no business here.  We are persons of peace.”

Cousin Peligros made a condescending and yet decisive gesture, patting the empty air.