She kept her eyes on the door and the window, watching for Jean Jacques.
Yet she reproved herself for her stupid concern, for Jean Jacques would have spoken last night, if he had discovered anything.

He was not the man to hold his tongue when he had a chance of talking.

He would be sure to make the most of any opportunity for display of intellectual emotion, and he would have burst his buttons if he had known.

That was the way she put it in a vernacular which was not Andalusian.

Such men love a grievance, because it gives them an opportunity to talk--with a good case and to some point, not into the air at imaginary things, as she had so often seen Jean Jacques do.