e said presently; "you speak our language so well,
you must have spent a good deal of time in the country."

"Can any man know a country?" asked Ricordo. "The geography, that is not
difficult. An hour with a map, and even London can be known. But the
fields, the hills, the roads, the towns, they do not make a country. The
people of England, then? Ah, I am profoundly ignorant of the people."

"And yet we are not a difficult people to understand," remarked Olive.

"No, you think not? I do not know, I have never tried to know."

"No?"

"I am content to look on the surface."

"Is not that a strange attitude of mind for an Eastern?"

"I am afraid I do not follow you."

"Well, I have always been led to believe that people from the East are
very philosophical and great seekers after truth."

"Ah, but years teach wisdom, signorina, and that wisdom says, 'Never
seek the truth.'"

"Why?"

"Because truth is never worth the knowing."

He spoke quite naturally, and did not seem to be aware that he was
making a cynical statement. Neither did he lift his eyes to her. He
walked slowly, keeping his eyes on the ground.

Olive felt a strange fascination in his presence; moreover, she could
not feel that she was speaking to a stranger. She had a feeling that she
had seen him before, heard him speak before. And yet everything about
him was strange. His voice was not familiar to her, and it had a
peculiar fluid tone which sounded un-English, and yet she fancied that
she had heard it somewhere. As she listened, she found herself recalling
the past, and thinking of the days before the dark shadow fell upon her
life. Without knowing why, she found herself thinking of Leicester. The
stranger's cynicism reminded her of the night when she first met him.
She remembered how Leicester had dominated the gathering at her father's
house, and that she had found herself admiring him, even while she had
disagreed with everything he had said. The same thing was happening now.
Herbert Briarfield, of whom she had thought a great deal during the last
few days, seemed to have sunk in the background. He was one who did not
matter, while the man who was a stranger had blotted him out. Perhaps
this was because she found herself putting a double meaning on
everything he said. Of course this might be because, owing to his
Eastern associations, he would regard things differently from the way an
Englishman would regard them; but she had spoken to men fr