arently
passing his time in the same manner. My companion, who was restless
all the time, glanced at him frequently, or I should scarcely have
noticed his existence. In dress and appearance he resembled very much
the ordinary valet in private service, except for his eye-glasses, and
that his face lacked the smooth pastiness of the class. For some
reason or other my companion seemed to take a dislike to him.

"Come," she said to me, "we will move over to the other side. I think
we shall get in quicker."

I followed her lead, and I saw her glance back over her shoulder at
the young man, who seemed unaware, even, of her departure.

"I do hate being listened to," she said, "even when one is talking
about nothing in particular!"

"Who was listening to us?" I asked.

"The young man next to you," she answered. "I could see him look up in
that horrid stealthy way from under his eyelids."

I laughed.

"You are a very observant person," I remarked.

She drew a little closer to me. Somehow or other I found the sense of
her near presence a delightful thing. All her garment seemed imbued
with a faint perfume, as though of violets.

"I think that I have only become so quite lately," she said. "Perhaps
it is because I have lived such a quiet life, and now things are so
different. My uncle has been so mysterious, especially during the last
few days, and I suppose it has made me suspicious. Wherever we go, I
always seem to fancy that some one is watching us. Besides, I am sure
that that young man was a South American, and I hate South Americans!"

"I fancy," I said, "that the attention he bestowed upon us was due to
a more obvious cause."

"Please do not talk like that," she begged. "I do not wish for
compliments from you. I have been told always that Englishmen are so
truthful. One has compliments from Frenchmen, from Spaniards, and from
South Americans. They fall like froth from their lips, and one knows
all the time that it means nothing, and less than nothing. It is such
a pity!"

"Why a pity?" I asked, more for the sake of keeping her talking than
anything. "Certainly it is a picturesque habit of speech."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I do not like it," she said quietly. "By degrees, one comes to
believe nothing that any man says, even when he is in earnest.
Remember, Capitaine Rotherby, I hope that I shall never hear a
compliment from you."

"I will be careful," I promised her, "but you must remember that ther