Appleby was glad that he was relieved of the necessity of answering, because the banker’s wife waddled out, clad in black from heel to crown— for she wore a lace mantilla there—with powdered face, into the veranda; and since the camaraderie that existed between him and the girl was not likely to be understood or appreciated by a lady of Castilian extraction he went away. He also wanted to think, and descending to a nook of the patio where there was a seat lighted a cigar. If Miss Harding was right, and he had seen already that she was a young woman of singular penetration, he had made his sacrifice—which had, however, not cost him very much—in vain; but what disconcerted him was the fact that she had forced the truth he had strenuously striven to close his eyes to upon him. Still, even that, he told himself, did not count for very much just then. Even if she did not love Tony, Violet Wayne was patrician to her finger tips and he an outcast adventurer. That was a very convincing reason why he should think no more of her, and yet even then her face rose up before his fancy and would not be driven away. It was almost a relief when he heard a step behind him, and turning sharply saw a little olive‐faced officer in tight green uniform smiling at him. “You do not find the women of this country sympathetic—though you dance our dances well?” he said. Appleby was on his guard, and regretted he had figured in the many‐ stepped dances he had been taught at Algeciras at all, for he had hitherto deemed it wise to evince no close acquaintance with Castilian customs; and Espada Morales had very keen eyes. “That is a little astonishing, unless it is the national courtesy which prompts you to tell me so,” he said. Morales shrugged his shoulders. “The nice articulation of our ‘jota’ and ‘zeta,’ which are embarrassing to strangers, is even more astonishing. One does not overcome that difficulty in the two months you have spent in this country. Still, what is that to me? It is not my business to inquire where my friends acquired Castilian.” Appleby wondered whether this was meant as a hint that the prosecution of such an inquiry might not be desirable to him. He had seen the Colonel Morales twice in battle, and while he had little fear of recognition in his present guise had been told a good deal which by no means pleased him about the man. Morales had, it was believed, the scent of a sleuth‐hound and the jaguar’s voracity. “It is at least an honor to be counted among a distinguished soldier’s friends,” he said. Morales made a little gesture of deprecation. “Soldiering is an ill‐paid trade, and you others are to be envied,” he said. “This is why I appeal to you as the Senor Harding’s superintendent and a well‐wisher of Spain. Mine is a poor country, and our troops are short of clothing and necessaries. The loyalists of this district have responded to the appeal we made them generously, and it seemed only fitting to give you an opportunity.”