“The same,” replied Mike; “and a sweet place it is for eating and drinking,--for wine in buckets full, av ye axed for it, for dancing and singing every evening, with as pretty craytures as ever I set eyes upon. Upon my conscience, it’s as good as Galway; and good manners it is they have. What’s more, none of your liberties or familiarities with strangers; but it’s Don Miguel, devil a less. ‘Don Miguel, av it’s plazing to you to take a drop of Xeres before your meat?’ or, ‘Would you have a shaugh of a pipe or cigar when you’re done?’ That’s the way of it.” “And Sir George Dashwood,” said I, “has he been here? Has he inquired for me?” “Every day either himself or one of the staff comes galloping up at luncheon time to ask after you; and then they have a bit of tender discourse with the senhora herself. Oh, devil a bit need ye fear them, she’s true blue; and it isn’t the major’s fault,--upon my conscience it isn’t,--for he does be coming the blarney over her in beautiful style.” “Does Miss Dashwood ever visit here?” said I, with a voice faltering and uncertain enough to have awakened suspicion in a more practised observer. “Never once; and that’s what I call unnatural behavior, after you saving her life; and if she wasn’t--” “Be silent, I say.” “Well, well, there, I won’t say any more; and sure it’s time for me to be putting on my beard again. I’m going to the Casino with Catrina, and sure it’s with real ladies I might be going av it wasn’t for Major Power, that told them I wasn’t a officer; but it’s all right again. I gave them a great history of the Frees from the time of Cuilla na Toole, that was one of the family and a cousin of Moses, I believe; and they behave well to one that comes from an ould stock.” “Don Miguel! Don Miguel!” said a voice from the garden. “I’m coming, my angel! I’m coming, my turtle-dove!” said Mike, arranging his mustaches and beard with amazing dexterity. “Ah, but it would do your heart good av you could take a peep at us about twelve o’clock, dancing ‘Dirty James’ for a bolero, and just see Miss Catrina, the lady’s maid, doing ‘cover the buckle’ as neat as Nature. There now, there’s the lemonade near your hand, and I’ll leave you the lamp, and you may go asleep as soon as you please, for Miss Inez won’t come in to-night to play the guitar, for the doctor said it might do you harm now.” So saying, and before I could summon presence of mind to ask another question, Don Miguel wrapped himself in the broad folds of his Spanish cloak, and strode from the room with the air of an hidalgo.