Page 203 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

swerving from the straight line of his march, came to lean
over the high back of her seat.
For a long time he talked into her ear from behind, softly,
with a half smile and an air of apologetic familiarity. Her
fan lay half grasped on her knees. She never looked at him.
His rapid utterance grew more and more insistent and ca-
ressing. At last he ventured a slight laugh.
‘No, really. You must forgive me. One must be serious
sometimes.’ He paused. She turned her head a little; her
blue eyes glided slowly towards him, slightly upwards, mol-
lified and questioning.
‘You can’t think I am serious when I call Montero a gran’
bestia every second day in the Porvenir? That is not a seri-
ous occupation. No occupation is serious, not even when a
bullet through the heart is the penalty of failure!’
Her hand closed firmly on her fan.
‘Some reason, you understand, I mean some sense, may
creep into thinking; some glimpse of truth. I mean some
effective truth, for which there is no room in politics or
journalism. I happen to have said what I thought. And you
are angry! If you do me the kindness to think a little you
will see that I spoke like a patriot.’
She opened her red lips for the first time, not unkindly.
‘Yes, but you never see the aim. Men must be used as they
are. I suppose nobody is really disinterested, unless, per-
haps, you, Don Martin.’
‘God forbid! It’s the last thing I should like you to believe
of me.’ He spoke lightly, and paused.
She began to fan herself with a slow movement without

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