“Oh, yes,” nodded the girl, “you meet all sorts of men who raise their hats and say, ‘Good-evening, Miss,’ or ‘Haven’t we met before?’ I don’t think they have ever said anything else,” she reflected thoughtfully,--“they all belong to the ‘Good-evening’ or the ‘Met you before’ school, and they all want to know if you are ‘going their way.’” “What happens then?” asked the amused Colonel, carefully removing his cigar in order that he might laugh without detriment to the accumulating ash. “I have only had one experience,” said Kate. “It was with a young man with a horribly weak chin. He had studied in both schools, for his ‘Good-evening’ was followed by a request for information upon my immediate plans and I let him walk with me. I expected something very dreadful but he talked mostly about his mother and the difficulties he had about getting a latch-key. He wanted to take my arm but I told him it wasn’t done and then he suggested that I should meet him on Sunday. By this time I had learnt all about his family, his mother and the girl he was prepared to sacrifice to retain a continuation of our intimacy. I also discovered his name was Ernest and that he was the cleverest man in his office.” “He wanted to kiss you, I’ll be bound,” said the Colonel. “I think he did,” admitted the girl, “but he didn’t say so. All he said was that he hoped it didn’t rain and asked if he might write to me. I told him he might, but, unfortunately, he forgot to ask me my address--” she broke off suddenly, “what is Gregori kicking about?” “That Madrid affair didn’t go off as well as it might,” said the Colonel, avoiding her eye. She nodded. “I know; and Gregori blames me, I presume.” “Gregori never blames you,” said the Colonel, “I think Gregori would knife anybody who said a word against you.” “No,” she said, nodding her head, her eyes fixed on the opposite wall, “the Madrid affair went badly, in spite of the fact that there were forty-two sheets of manuscript in Spanish and English giving the most elaborate directions. It was a month’s work for me and it was all wasted and the greater part of a hundred thousand pesetas because Gregori’s trusted Señor Rahboulla thought he could improve upon my instructions and joined the train at Cordova in a light grey suit when I told him to wear the conventional black of the _madrilleno_ and when I insisted upon his making his entrance to Madrid from Toledo. I knew that Cordova was watched by the French and Spanish police and I knew too that they would be looking for a stranger. Rahboulla advertised himself, was arrested and the chain, which I had carefully pieced together, was broken. By the time he had shaken off the police and arrived in Madrid the closing hour of the Prado had been advanced from six to five and the consequence is, that the Velasquez is still in the picture gallery and we are a hundred thousand pesetas the poorer.” The Colonel shook his head.