"For goodness’ sake, Tuppy, go to sleep," said the Duke on one occasion, and Tuppy withdrew—but not to slumber. Tuppy would begin packing. You could hear Tuppy’s boots falling on the bare floor of the Spanish hotel—you could hear Tuppy’s apologetic "damn!" Then he whistled softly and with heart-breaking flatness the "Soldiers’ Chorus"; then he took a stealthy bath—blowing like a grampus and with a sibilant hissing that suggested an ostler at his toilet. Then there came from his room a squeaking and a grunting as Tuppy manipulated his physical developer. Then a thunderous crash! as the dumbells fell to the floor—at this point the Duke would rise and address feeling remarks to his friend. Such a programme as I have outlined is faithfully typical of what happened in Cordova, in Seville, in Ronda, in Algeciras and in Gibraltar. It was at Ronda that the Duke came up with his quarry. Alicia, breakfasting alone in the airy little "comidor" of the Station Hotel saw a shadow fall across the doorway but did not look up from the book she was reading. When she did, she met the smiling eyes of the Duke and half rose with outstretched hands. Of course it was only an unconscious impulse, but it was unnecessary to go half way with the Duke. He greeted her as though they had parted but yesterday, the best of friends. He had the valuable gift of taking up, where he had left off—you never saw the joint in the Duke’s friendship. Alicia thought rapidly. After all one cannot offer one’s hand and snatch it instantly back again. It had been foolish of her, unmaidenly perhaps, indiscreet no doubt, but here she was chatting gaily with the Duke. "We left mother in Paris, my aunt is with us, we’ve had most perfect weather...." She noticed that she was "Miss Terrill" to him—there was a negative satisfaction in that. So, apparently he had not picked up the threads, as they had dropped. Also he made no reference to their parting interview, offered no explanations, was neither tragic nor mournful, displayed, in fact, none of those interesting symptoms which usually distinguish the young man of blighted hopes. He was the most unconventional man Alicia had ever met. The interview had its embarrassing side as Alicia suddenly remembered. "My uncle will be down very soon," she said suddenly, "I don’t think that you and he are quite——?" she left the Duke to finish the sentence. He rose. "We aren’t—quite," he said. "I shall probably see you again," she smiled. She was perfectly self-controlled, serenely mistress of herself and the situation. "Sir Harry has read your Open Letters—I think he was touched by your abasement," she said maliciously, and, I cannot help thinking, incautiously. "Naturally," said the Duke calmly, "even an uncle has his feelings: to know that his niece has inspired——" "Good-bye," she said hurriedly, "perhaps it would be better if you didn’t see me again." She added inconsistently, "We are going on to Tangier to-morrow."