Doña Beatrice went on fanning herself; her smile broadened. "How foolish of you to warn me, my dear!" she remarked. "You should not let yourself be in such a passion. You show me your defences, which is quite ridiculous of you. I fear you will never win in a battle of wits with me. Now had you curbed your temper, my dear, you would have carried out this plan of yours in secret, and discomposed me sadly. I should certainly have respected you." She picked up the book of poems again, and began to find her place in it. "Of course you will be away from Madrid by the time Tobar enters it." Dominica knew those sleepy eyes watched her still. There was no saying what Doña Beatrice suspected, what traps she might be laying. The girl let her eyes fall, bit her lips, moved a hand amongst the laces at her bosom as though she were agitated. Her wits against her aunt's? She was very content to set them up for a battle; played her little comedy better even than she knew. "Aunt!" She pretended to seek for words, put her hands together as though she would clasp them, moved them apart again. Her eyes lifted; she tossed up her head. "And I will still find means to let him know how you use me!" she cried. "You may do as you please, señora, but you will not induce me to wed with Don Diego!" She judged that to be enough: there had been sufficient childish petulance in her voice to satisfy her aunt. She flung round on her heel, and ran out. Doña Beatrice went on reading her poems. At dinner, some hours later, she spoke to her husband in a slow, lazy voice, and with a glance of amusement at Dominica. "I find, señor," she said, "that these heats tax me too much. Madrid becomes insupportable." Don Rodriguez was all solicitude at once, wondering fussily what might be done to relieve the lady. She broke into his talk. "I have a simpler remedy than these of yours, señor. I shall go to Vasconosa ahead of you." She paused, and pulled a dish of sugar-plate towards her. "To-day is Tuesday," she remarked. "Shall we say a week from to-day?" Don Diego looked sharply; Dominica kept her eyes down. She judged from her aunt's faintly derisive tone that she had ascertained the date of Tobar's arrival in Madrid. She could have wished it had been nearer, since every day Sir Nicholas spent in Madrid added to his danger. There could be no peace for her while he stayed. A grim fear stalked beside her; every day she dreaded to hear of his capture; every time she saw him his very carelessness brought her heart into her mouth. There was a price to be paid by the lady who was loved by Mad Nicholas. He came that evening to wait on Doña Beatrice. It seemed he had an assignation with her; she had lent him a Romance, and he came to give it back to her, and stayed on talking French with her.