"I'm not blind; I see what goes
on about me. This will make a pretty scandal among your friends--
she as black as the pit, and you--"
"WOMAN!" shouted the planter, "you have a sting like a scorpion."
"I won't have that wench in my house," Isabel flared out at him.
Goaded to fury by his wife's senseless accusation, Esteban cried:
"YOUR house? By what license do you call it yours?"
"Am I not married to you?"
"Damnation! Yes--as a leech is married to its victim. You suck my
blood."
"Your blood!" The woman laughed shrilly. "You have no blood; your
veins run vinegar. You are a miser."
"Miser! Miser! I grow sick of the word. It is all you find to
taunt me with. Confess that you married me for my money," he
roared.
"Of course I did! Do you think a woman of my beauty would marry
you for anything else? But a fine bargain I made!"
"Vampire!"
"Wife or vampire, I intend to rule this house, and I refuse to be
shamed by a thick-lipped African. Her airs tell her story. She is
insolent to me, but--I sha'n't endure it. She laughs at me. Well,
your friends shall laugh at you."
"Silence!" commanded Esteban.
"Sell her."
"No."
"Sell her, or--"
Without waiting to hear her threat Esteban tossed his arms above
his head and fled from the room. Flinging himself into the saddle,
he spurred down the hill and through the town to the Casino de
Espanol, where he spent the night at cards with the Spanish
officials.
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