How quick-tempered she had been, how easily roused, and now she must force herself to an unwilling control that checked words as they rose to her lips and forced her at times even to lower her eyes so that he should not see the blazing hatred in them and be moved to retaliate.

He would tease her as a child might tease a kitten, making her wild with rage so that he could laugh and pull her down beside him to kiss the angry words from her lips.

This was harder to endure than the effort of forcing herself into silence and Skye was learning to be subtle.

But at times he took her unawares. The previous day had been a Sunday and, as the men did not work, El Diablo spent a quiet morning at his desk.

When luncheon was over, he told Skye that they were going riding and they set off alone without their usual escort of gauchos.

About six miles from the camp they came to a thick wood. They dismounted and El Diablo led the way through the trees to where at the foot of the mountains a stream cascaded down the rocks and then widened out into a deep clear pool.

It was encircled with tropical ferns and the hot sunshine glinting through the overhanging branches speckled it with gold, while the vividly coloured butterflies hovering above the still water were reflected on its surface.

It was a hidden secret place so exotically beautiful that Skye gave a cry of delight.

“A perfect swimming pool!” she exclaimed. “What a pity we didn’t bring our bathing clothes with us!”

She looked at El Diablo quickly as she spoke and saw the smile on his lips.

It had been foolish to run away from him among the tree trunks, for he caught her easily, with little effort to himself, while she was breathless with haste and anger.

“I thought modesty was out of date!” he said softly. “I must be out of date too for I find it unexpectedly exciting.”

He looked down at her quivering frightened face.

“You will find two bathing dresses, one for you and one for me, in my saddlebag. I’m sorry I cannot provide a bathing tent as a sop to your Victorian prudery, but if you take the bushes on one side of the pool and I the other, doubtless the conventions will not be outraged.”

As the shamed colour came flooding into Skye’s cheeks, he laughed.

“To the pure all things are impure!” he said and she knew then that he had deliberately enticed her into making a fool of herself!

“I hate you, I hate you!” she stormed, but he only laughed and her voice sounded weak and ineffective even to herself.