The senor was obliged to examine, and to enter into a discussion, though, of course, his ignorance of the subject in dispute was as the depths of that abyss which has no bottom. Miriam, who was not fond of Don Miguel, but who felt constrained to exceptional courtesy in view of Freeman’s unwarrantable attack upon him, stood beside him and the Professor; and Freeman and Grace were thus left to fight it out with each other. But Grace had drawn her own conclusions from what had passed. Freeman had insulted Don Miguel. Wherefore? Obviously, it could only be because he thought that she was flirting with him. In other words, Freeman was jealous; and to be jealous is to love. Now, Grace was so constituted that, though she did not like to play second fiddle herself, yet she had no objection to monopolizing all the members of the male species who might happen, at a given moment, to be in sight. She had, consequently, already forgiven Freeman for his apparent unfaithfulness to her, by reason of his manifest jealousy of Don Miguel. As a matter of fact, he was not jealous, and he was unfaithful; but fate had decreed that there should be, for the moment, a game of cross-purposes; and the decrees of fate are incorrigible. “I had no idea you were so savage,” she said, softly. “I’m not savage,” replied Freeman. “I am bored.” “Well, I don’t know as I can blame you,” said Grace, still more softly: she fancied he was referring to Miriam. “I don’t much like Spanish mixtures myself.” “One has to take what one can get,” said Freeman, referring to Don Miguel. “But it’s all right now,” rejoined she, meaning that Freeman and herself were reconciled after their quarrel. “If you are satisfied, I am,” observed Freeman, too indifferent to care what she meant. “Only, you mustn’t take that poor young man too seriously,” she went on: “these Mexicans are absurdly demonstrative, but they don’t mean anything.” “He won’t, if he values his skin,” said Freeman, meaning that if Don Miguel attempted to interfere between himself and Miriam he would wring his neck. “He won’t, I promise you,” said Grace, sparkling with pleasure. “I don’t quite see how you can help it,” returned Freeman. “I should hope I could manage a creature like that!” murmured she, smiling. “Well,” said Freeman, after a pause,--for Grace’s seeming change of attitude puzzled him a little,--“I’m glad you look at it that way. I don’t wish to be meddled with; that’s all.” “You shan’t be,” she whispered; and then, just when they were approaching the point where their eyes might have been opened, in came General Trednoke. The group round the Golden Fleece broke up. The general wore his riding-dress, and his bearing was animated, though he was covered with dust.