"I don't imagine so. Sort of house-warming. They've just inherited the estate. Belle Fitzgerald, you and I, and the Port Arthurs-- I don't know who else." "That reminds me," exclaimed Kingsland, "I must hurry through lunch. I promised the Marchioness I'd do a picture exhibition with her Ladyship at three, and it's nearly two, now." "Under orders as usual, I see," said his host, and the Lieutenant shrugged his shoulders and looked sheepish. He was weak, impecunious, handsome and dashing, and rumour said just a bit wild, and, moreover, was known throughout the social world of London as the tame cat of the Dowager Marchioness of Port Arthur; a very distant relative of his, and as the especially privileged companion of her only daughter, Lady Isabelle McLane, on the tacit understanding that he would never so far forget himself as to aspire to that daughter's hand. "I say," remarked that officer, who did not relish the turn which the conversation had taken, "tell me something about your country." "Do you desire a complete geographical and political disquisition?" asked the Secretary, laughing. "Hardly. What's it like?" "The climate and Government of my country are both tropical." "I suppose you mean intense, and subject to violent changes." The Secretary looked out of the window at the most uninteresting view of the Thames, saying: "I think we're going to have a thunderstorm." "Am I to take that remark in a political sense?" inquired the Lieutenant. "I don't believe I've told you," said his host abruptly, discontinuing an inopportune subject, "that I'm a South American only by force of circumstances. My parents were born in the States." "My dear fellow," Kingsland hastened to assure him, "I never had the least intention of prying into your affairs, domestic or diplomatic. I was merely wondering if the country you represent brought forth any staple products, which would yield a profitable return to foreign investment?" The Secretary mentioned one--which was said to be connected prominently with the treaty which was the subject of his recent visit to the Foreign Office--and so was naturally uppermost in his mind--"but," he added, "that staple is practically a monopoly, controlled by a firm of manufacturers, whose headquarters are in London, and, unless they fail, the outside public would have little chance in the same field." "I suppose their failure is hardly likely." "I'm not so sure of that--it all depends on a treaty now pending between your Government and mine. Frankly, if I had any money to invest, I would not expend it in that direction." "Thank you. By the way, if your land doesn't produce good investments, it certainly brings forth beautiful women. What wonderful beauty that Madame Darcy has, who dined with us last night." "Our fathers are old friends," replied Stanley. "Ah, what a pity," said the Lieutenant. "I don't understand."