In this fair city of the Conquistadors, where Ponce de Leon laid a foundation for the future Spanish colony, there may have been men who for various causes felt the heat of anger surging through their souls on this August night in the year of our Lord 1898; but it is exceedingly problematical whether one among them experienced such a terrible volcano raging in their heart as did Roderic Owen when the first suspicion burst upon him that Julio's companion was the beautiful girl who had after estrangement again promised to be his honored wife. The shock almost took his breath away, it was so keen, so cruel, and found him so unprepared. Then came a revulsion of feeling--it could not be so--Georgia was true, she was loving and faithful--this was only a wretched coincidence--surely there were women in San Juan who possessed figures on the same order as hers, and who even made those familiar little gestures--women were pretty much alike with regard to such things, just as a dozen cats may all make the same graceful leaps, together with the peculiar little motions so characteristic the world over. Still he followed Julio--for the life of him he could not help that, no matter how thoroughly convinced he might be that it was no affair of his--there was a terrible fascination in the game, as though he were playing with dynamite. And so the pendulum swung again, his eyes being still glued upon the girl, once more he found himself the prey to suspicions. In vain he endeavored to throttle them, as his better nature arose in arms--like Banquo's ghost they would not down--every movement the girl made that reminded him of Georgia was like a wicked stab in the region of his heart, and when he saw the daring Julio pick up her kerchief which had fallen from her hand, and press it to his lips very cavalierly ere returning it, Roderic had a great desire to rush upon the _bolero_ dancer and knock him down--indeed, just at that minute he thought he had good cause for hammering him in lusty Anglo Saxon style. But Roderic was not jealous--oh! no, he had cast that monster out of his heart for good, and meant to have no more of him--only he had a very queer sensation seize upon him, and felt as though it was only just and right, both to Georgia and himself, that he should settle this matter then and there. This could only be done in one way, by looking upon the girl's face. He was firmly resolved to do this, come what might--Julio would doubtless resent the impertinence, for Julio was a fighter, having once been a _toreador_ in the bull ring--what of that, if only he could discover the truth one way or the other? A fellow in his frame of mind thinks little of danger, the careless snap of his fingers perhaps. What fools Cupid does make of men--even those who would appear to be the best balanced go quite off the handle when the little god finds lodgment in their bosoms.