A
woman that does not make a noise after an attempt of that kind has
tacitly condoned the offence. Ricardo had no small vanities. But
clearly, if she would pass it over like this, then he could not be so
utterly repugnant to her. He felt flattered. And she didn't seem afraid
of him either. He already felt almost tender towards the girl--that
plucky, fine girl who had not tried to run screaming from him.
"We shall be friends yet. I don't give you up. Don't think it. Friends
as friends can be!" he whispered confidently. "Jee-miny! You aren't a
tame one. Neither am I. You will find that out before long."
He could not know that if she had not run out, it was because that
morning, under the sum of growing uneasiness at the presence of the
incomprehensible visitors, Heyst had confessed to her that it was his
revolver he had been looking for in the night; that it was gone, that he
was a disarmed, defenceless man. She had hardly comprehended the meaning
of his confession. Now she understood better what it meant. The effort
of her self-control, her stillness, impressed Ricardo. Suddenly she
spoke:
"What are you after?"
He did not raise his eyes. His hands reposing on his knees, his drooping
head, something reflective in his pose, suggested the weariness of a
simple soul, the fatigue of a mental rather than physical contest.
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