gave Juan the order to drive home. He lifted his
hat, and left her. She saw Donna Maria's start of simulated
surprise. Also she detected, or thought she detected, the sly
triumph of a woman who steals a man.

All this she had leisure to observe; for Juan, a Gallician, was by no
means in a hurry to turn the mules' heads for home. He had slewed
his body about, and was gazing wistfully after the throng.

"Your Excellency, it would be a thousand pities!"

"Hey?"

"There has not been a finer burning these two years, they tell me.
And that old blasphemer's beard, when they set a light to it! . . .
I am a poor Gallego, your Excellency, and at home get so few chances
of enjoyment. Also I have dropped my whip, and it is trodden on,
broken. In the crowd at the Terreiro de Paco I may perchance borrow
another."

Ruth alighted in a blaze of wrath.

"Wretched man," she commanded, "climb down!"

"Your Excellency--"

"Climb down! You shall go, as your betters have gone, to feed your
eyes with these abominations. . . . Nay, how shall I scold you, who
do what your betters teach? But climb down. I will drive the mules
myself."

"His Excellency will murder me when he hears of it. But, indeed, was
ever such a thing heard of?" Nevertheless the man was plainly in two
minds.

"It is not for you to argue, but to obey my orders."

He descended, still protesting. She mounted to his seat, and took
the reins and whip.

"The brutes are spirited, your Excellency. For the love of God have
a care of them!"

For answer she flicked them with the whip--he had lied about the
broken whip--and left him staring.

The streets were deserted. All Lisbon had trooped to the auto-da-fe.
If any saw and wondered at the sight of a lady driving like a mere
_bolhero_, she heeded not. The mules trotted briskly, and she kept
them to it.

She had ceased to be amused, even scornfully. As she drove up the
slope of Buenos Ayres--the favourite English suburb, where his villa
stood overlooking Tagus--a deep disgust possessed her. It darkened
the sunshine. It befouled, it tarnished, the broad and noble mirror
of water spread far below.

"Were all men beasts, then?"

Chapter II.

DONNA MARIA.

They would dine at four o'clock. On Sundays Sir Oliver chose to dine
informally with a few favoured guests; and these to-day would make
nine, not counting Mr. Langton, who might be reckoned one of the
household.

By four o'clock all