Inez was silent until they were out of hearing, and then she said very meaningly: “What an excellent actor you are, Mr. Donnington.” “May I return the compliment? I saw that you wished it to appear that we were complete strangers. And with your permission that is just what we have been up to the moment of this introduction.” Another pause followed by a surprise for me. “So you are Miralda’s Englishman!” But I was too well on my guard to betray myself. “Am I really?” I asked with an easy laugh. “We had a jolly time for a week or two, but--that’s four months ago.” “You are fond of camelias, Mr. Donnington.” “I am wearing one, as you see,” I replied pointing to my buttonhole. But I had often given camelias to Miralda in those three weeks; and this handsome, dangerous, stately creature with hazel eyes, which were open and frank or diabolically sly at will, knew it. Again she paused once more as the preface to a shot. “What do you know about Major Sampayo, Mr. Donnington?” She flashed the question at me, her eyes searchlights in their intensity. “I think he’s quite a handsome man and looks awfully well in that rather gorgeous uniform; and I presume those orders on his chest show that he is as distinguished a soldier as he looks.” “Spoken without even a shadow of hesitation. I declare that every moment I admire your acting more.” She let her eyes rest on mine and half closed the lids. “I think I am glad I am not Major Sampayo,” she said slowly. “I should imagine you have every reason to be satisfied with your own delightfully handsome personality. But if it comes to that, I am also glad I am not the major.” “Not even with Miralda thrown in?” “Not even with Miralda thrown in,” I repeated with a laugh. “She’s a very charming girl and exceedingly pretty and all that. She was acknowledged to be one of the prettiest girls in Paris last spring, you know, and I admire her tremendously.” “A frank admission of unconcerned admiration is very clever, of course, but I am not deceived by it, Mr. Donnington.” “No? Well then shall I confess that I worship her, that the ground her foot touches is changed to holy soil; that when she smiles I am in heaven, and when she frowns, in hell; and that for four months I have only existed on the hope of seeing her again; that she fills my heart, inspires my every thought, dominates my every action, permeates my being, and is the end-all and be-all of my life?” I declaimed all this with a lot of extravagant gesture; and then added in a different tone: “And why on earth do you want to insist that I am in love with her?” “It is necessary that I know exactly the relationship between you?” “My relationship is precisely the same as between you and myself, madame.” “What do you mean?” “Are we not all cousins in more or less remote degree--in our descent from Adam and Eve?” She rustled her shoulders impatiently. “Don’t you understand what I mean? You know how we first met.”