"What an ass a fellow’s self-conceit can make of him, Si," I exclaimed, after a pause. "But I shan’t forget what you’ve said." "Don’t, old fellow. I know the man, and I know he’s to be labelled dangerous. I don’t believe there’s any villainy—aye, any villainy of any kind, that he’d stick at to get his way. And he gets it to a degree that astounds those who don’t know him. With all my heart, I warn you," he said, more earnestly than I had ever known him speak. The warning took effect; it pricked the bubble of my fatuous self-conceit, and was in my thoughts all the next day as I was turning over the problem of broaching Sarita’s affairs to Quesada. It must mean crossing swords with him, indeed; and the result of such an encounter must at best be doubtful. I was fully conscious of this; but at the time I had not a thought or suspicion of the infinite hazard and trouble that lay in wait to overwhelm me, and to which I was advancing with the precocious self-confidence of conceited inexperience. *CHAPTER IX* *THE QUESADA VERSION* At the Minister’s house the cordiality of my reception by both brother and sister was almost embarrassing in its warmth. The Minister was effusive, elaborate, and demonstrative; the sister gentle, solicitous, and intensely earnest in her gratitude. She pressed my hands, thanked me in simple, sincere phrases, but left her gratitude to be expressed chiefly through her eloquent eyes, which were constantly upon me. She had taken a quite exaggerated view of my act, was bent upon setting me up for a hero, and appeared to be resolved to act up to her ideal view of the case. The Minister was an excellent talker, and, taking the burden of the conversation upon himself, proved himself a most entertaining companion. The one personal touch during dinner was in regard to his previous hint at our relationship. "Did you understand that hint I dropped yesterday about there being some connection between our families?" he asked. "Well, yes and no," I replied. "I have had some kind of hint from my father, but I don’t know exactly the details." "It is in some respects a painful story, and one we rarely, if ever, speak of; indeed, it is known to but very few people. But this is a family conclave, and if we may not open the cupboard of the skeleton—as you English very grimly say—who may? By the way, how excellently you speak Spanish. I should not know you for any but a Spaniard." "I was many years as a youth in Spain." "You have a wonderful idiom; eh, Dolores?" "I thought Senor Carbonnell was a countryman at first," she said, her eyes and face lighting as if that were a rare virtue of mine.