The colonel hesitated slightly. "I shall remain in Europe until Miss Arguello is settled--I mean," he added hurriedly, "until she has--ahem!--completed her education in foreign ways and customs. You see, Hathaway, I have constituted myself, after a certain fashion, I may say--still, her guardian. I am an old man, with neither kith nor kin myself, sir--I'm a little too old-fashioned for the boys over there"--with a vague gesture towards the west, which, however, told Paul how near it still was to him. "But then, among the old fogys here--blank it all!--it isn't noticed. So I look after her, you see, or rather make myself responsible for her generally--although, of course, she has other friends and associates, you understand, more of her own age and tastes." "And I've no doubt she's perfectly satisfied," said Paul in a tone of conviction. "Well, yes, sir, I presume so," said the colonel slowly; "but I've sometimes thought, Mr. Hathaway, that it would have been better if she'd have had a woman's care--the protection you understand, of an elderly woman of society. That seems to be the style here, you know--a chaperon, they call it. Now, Milly Woods, you see, is about the same age, and the Dona Anna, of course, is older, but--blank it!--she's as big a flirt as the rest--I mean," he added, correcting himself sharply, "she lacks balance, sir, and--what shall I call it?--self-abnegation." "Then Dona Anna is still of your party?" asked Paul. "She is, sir, and her brother, Don Caesar. I have thought it advisable, on Yerba's account, to keep up as much as possible the suggestion of her Spanish relationship--although by reason of their absurd ignorance of geography and political divisions out here, there is a prevailing impression that she is a South American. A fact, sir. I have myself been mistaken for the Dictator of one of these infernal Republics, and I have been pointed out as ruling over a million or two of niggers like George!"