Diego!
Sandy (starting, aside). The devil! Why, that's ME she's after.
(Laughs.) I clean disremembered that when I kem yer I tole those
chaps my name was James,--James Smith (laughs), and thet they might
call me "Jim." And De-a-go's their lingo for Jim. (Aloud.) Well,
my beauty, De-a-go it is. Now, wot's up?
Manuela. Eh? no sabe!
Sandy. Wot's your little game. (Embraces her.)
Manuela (aside, and recoiling coquettishly). Mother of God! He
must be drunk again. These Americans have no time for love when
they are sober. (Aloud and coquettishly.) Let me go, Diego. Don
Jose is coming. He has sent for you. He takes his supper to-night
on the corridor. Listen, Diego. He must not see you thus. You
have been drinking again. I will keep you from him. I will say
you are not well.
Sandy. Couldn't you, my darling, keep him from ME? Couldn't you
make him think HE was sick? Couldn't you say he's exposin' his
precious health by sittin' out thar to-night; thet ther's chills
and fever in every breath? (Aside.) Ef the old Don plants himself
in that chair, that gal's chances for goin' out to-night is gone up.
Manuela. Never. He would suspect at once. Listen, Diego. If Don
Jose does not know that his daughter steals away with you to meet
some caballero, some LOVER,--you understand, Diego,--it is because
he does not know, or would not SEEM to know, what every one else in
the rancho knows.
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