shing, to gaze at a masked man in a motor-car.

He realized the likeness between Cristobal O'Donnel y Alvarez and his own
dangerous, though ineligible rival, Casa Triana. I could see the thought
dart into his mind and rankle; I could see him push it into a dark corner
kept for the rubbish of imagination. I knew how he was telling himself
that there could be no connection or collusion between the O'Donnel family
and Casa Triana. I hoped he also soothed his anxiety by reminding himself
that in all probability Casa Triana, in the blue Gloria car once seen by
his chauffeur, was busily forgetting Monica Vale in some distant part of
Europe. Carmona had admitted one mistake yesterday: he would not be ready
to fall into another to-day.

Lady Vale-Avon was also gazing somewhat sharply at the young Spanish
officer, a brother of those old acquaintances of the Duke's. But now she
coaxed her eyesight by lifting a lorgnette which, as Mary Stuart, she had
not been able to carry on the night of our former meeting; and when a
questioning glance at Carmona met with no alarming answer, the suspicious
frown faded from her forehead.

After a few words we all, as if with one accord, began to move on upon the
tour of inspection; and still there was no sign of Dick.

I would defy anyone to hold out for more than five minutes against the
charm of the Cherub. Without raising his voice above a honeyed murmur, and
with nothing particular to say, by sheer force of cherubic, Andaluz charm
of manner he fascinated the Duchess of Carmona, and even Lady Vale-Avon,
to whom he was a new type. She had been studying Spanish with an eye to
the future, for she understood and answered Colonel O'Donnel; but with
apparent innocence and real subtlety he contrived to keep the Duke busy
explaining him, and murmured so many funny things that even Carmona was
obliged occasionally to burst out laughing.

Meanwhile, Monica, Pilar, and I were left to follow behind, greatly
against the will of the Duke, as I guessed by the sulky set of his
shoulders.

"Quick, quick, into this chapel," whispered Pilar, "before they look
round. Then they won't know where we've disappeared, and you'll have five
minutes grace." As she spoke, she caught Monica by the arm, and whisked
her into the Capilla del Condestable. Once behind the iron lattice, she
darted away as if moved by a sudden passion to gaze at the carved altar
piece.

"How wonderful!" said Monica. I caught her hands, whi