infinite capacity for
physical pleasure, that to her mere walking would give more joy than
others find in dancing. And then he raised his eyes to her face and was
sad. For sufficient reasons he was very sensitive to the tragedies of
women, and he knew it was a tragedy that such a face should surmount
such a body. For her body would imprison her in soft places: she would
be allowed no adventures other than love, no achievements other than
births. But her face was haggard, in spite of its youth, with appetite
for travel in the hard places of the world, for the adventures and
achievements that are the birthright of any man. "It's rotten luck to be
a girl," he thought. "If she were a boy I could get her a job at Rio....
Lord, she has lovely hair!" He perceived sharply that he was not likely
to be of any more use to her than most men would. All he could do would
be to avert the humiliation which the moment seemed likely to bring down
on her.

"Oh, this is a wonderful country," he said aloud, "where you get people
studying Spanish in their off-hours." Ellen thought it rather wonderful
too, and looked at her toes with a priggish blankness. "You've got a
marvellous educational system...." He paused, conscious that he was too
manifestly talking at random. "In two continents you've enjoyed the
reputation of being able to talk the hind-leg off a donkey," he reminded
himself. "It's the language to learn," he said aloud. "It's the language
of the future. Ever been in Spain, Mr. James?"

"No," said Mr. Philip, "but I was thinking of going there--or mebbe
Italy--ma Easter holidays." Ellen smiled brilliantly at him, for she
knew that he had had no such thought till that evening's talk with her;
she had converted him to a romantic. He caught her eye, only to glare
coldly into the centre of her smile.

It was Yaverland's opportunity, for he had spent two years as chemist at
the Romanones mines in Andalusia; and he had learned by now the art of
talking to the Scotch, whom he had discovered to be as extravagantly
literate as they were unsensuous. To them panpipes might play in vain,
but almost any series of statistics or the more desiccated kind of
social fact recited with a terrier-like air of sagacity would entrance
them. "The mines are Baird's, you know--Sir Milne Baird; it's a Glasgow
firm...." "Mhm," said Mr. Philip, "I know who you mean." Detestable,
thought Yaverland, this Scotch locution which implies that one has made
a vague o