"Then there is nothing more to be said," he observed carelessly. "You elect to remain at Torre Garda. I bow to your decision, my child. I have warned you." "Against Marcos?" Mon shrugged his shoulders a second time. "And in reply to your warning," said Juanita slowly. "I will tell you that Marcos has never done or said anything unworthy of a Spanish gentleman--and there is no better gentleman in the world." Which statement all men will assuredly be ready to admit. Mon turned and looked at her with an odd smile. "Ah!" he said. "You have fallen in love with Marcos." Juanita changed colour and her eyes suddenly lighted with anger. "I am not afraid of anything you may say or do," she said. "I have Marcos. Marcos has always outwitted you when you have come in contact with him. Marcos is cleverer than you. He is stronger." She paused. Mon was slowly drawing his gloves through his hands which were white and smooth. "That is the difference between you," she continued. "You wear gloves. Marcos takes hold of life with his bare hand. You may be more cunning, but Marcos outwits you. The mind seeks but the heart finds. Your mind may be subtle--but Marcos has a better heart." Mon had risen. He stood with his face half turned away from her so that she could only see his profile. And for a moment she was sorry for him; that one moment which always mars an earthly victory. He turned away from her and walked slowly towards the library window which stood open and gave passage to the sound of moving cups and saucers. We all carry with us through life the remembrance of certain words probably forgotten by the speaker. A few bear the keener, sharper memory of words unspoken. Juanita never forgot the silence of Evasio Mon as he walked away from her. A moment later she heard him laughing and talking in the library. He had come on horseback and Sarrion accompanied him to the stables on his departure. They were both young for their years. The Spaniards of the north are thin and lithe and long-lived. Sarrion offered his hand for Mon's knee, who with this aid sprang into the saddle. He turned and looked towards the terrace. "Juanita," he said, and paused. "She is no longer a child. One hopes that she may have a happy life ... seeing that so many do not." Sarrion made no answer. "We are not weaklings," continued Mon lightly. "You, and Marcos and I. We may sweat and toil as we will--but believe me, there is more power in Juanita's little finger. It is the casting vote--amigo--the casting vote." He waved a salutation as he rode away. CHAPTER XXIX LA MAIN DE FER Juanita was very early astir the next morning. The house was peculiarly quiet, but she knew that Marcos, if he had been abroad, had now returned; for Perro was lying on the terrace in the sunlight watching the library window. Juanita went to that room and there found Marcos writing letters. A map of the Valley of the Wolf lay open on the table beside him.