y writer's fantasy Ecija seemed a fit background for some tragic story
of passion or of crime.

I dined, unromantically enough, with a pair of commercial travellers, a
post-office clerk, and two stout, elderly men who appeared to be retired
officers. Spanish victuals are terrible and strange; food is even more
an affair of birth than religion, since a man may change his faith, but
hardly his manner of eating: the stomach used to roast meat and
Yorkshire pudding rebels against Eastern cookery, and a Christian may
sooner become a Buddhist than a beef-eater a guzzler of _olla podrida_.
The Spaniards without weariness eat the same dinner day after day, year
in, year out: it is always the same white, thin, oily soup; a dish of
haricot beans and maize swimming in a revolting sauce; a nameless
_entree_ fried in oil--Andalusians have a passion for other animals'
insides; a thin steak, tough as leather and grilled to utter dryness;
raisins and oranges. You rise from table feeling that you have been
soaked in rancid oil.

My table-companions were disposed to be sociable. The travellers desired
to know whether I was there to sell anything, and one drew from his
pocket, for my inspection, a case of watch-chains. The officers surmised
that I had come from Gibraltar to spy the land, and to terrify me, spoke
of the invincible strength of the Spanish forces.

'Are you aware,' said the elder, whose adiposity prevented his outward
appearance from corresponding with his warlike heart, 'Are you aware
that in the course of history our army has never once been defeated, and
our fleet but twice?'

He mentioned the catastrophes, but I had never heard of them; and
Trafalgar was certainly not included. I hazarded a discreet inquiry,
whereupon, with much emphasis, both explained how on that occasion the
Spanish had soundly thrashed old Nelson, although he had discomfited the
French.

'It is odd,' I observed, 'that British historians should be so
inaccurate.'

'It is discreditable,' retorted my acquaintance, with a certain
severity.

'How long did the English take to conquer the Soudan?' remarked the
other, somewhat aggressively picking his teeth. 'Twenty years? We
conquered Morocco in three months.'

'And the Moors are devils,' said the commercial traveller. 'I know,
because I once went to Tangiers for my firm.'

After dinner I wandered about the streets, past the great old houses of
the nobles in the _Calle de los Caballeros_, empty