on, not through but
from beneath the moony spectacles. Dolores felt perfectly satisfied that
he was studying her. All the better reason, she thought, for her
studying him.

What had Dolores got upon her mind? She did not know. She had not the
least glimmering of a clear idea. It was not a very surprising thing
that an American Professor addicted mainly to the study of folk-lore
should not know Spanish. Dolores had a vague impression of having heard
that, as a rule, Americans were not good linguists. But that was not
what troubled and perplexed her. She felt convinced, in this case, that
the professed American did understand Spanish, and that his ordinary
accent had something Spanish in it, although he had declared that he had
never been even in New Orleans.

We all remember the story of Morgiana in 'The Forty Thieves.' The
faculties of the handsome and clever Morgiana were strained to their
fullest tension with one particular object. She looked at everything,
studied everything--with regard to that object. If she saw a chalk-mark
on a door she instantly went and made a like chalk-mark on various doors
in the neighbourhood. Dolores found her present business in life to be
somewhat like that of Morgiana. A chalk-mark was enough to fill her with
suspicion; an unexpected accent was enough to fill her with suspicion;
an American Professor who knew Spanish, but had no confidence in his
Spanish, might possibly be the Captain of the Forty Immortals--thieves,
of course, and not Academicians. Dolores had as vague an idea about the
Spanish question as Morgiana had about the chalk-mark on the door, but
she was quite clear that some account ought to be taken of it.

At this moment, much to the relief of the perplexed Dolores, Helena
caught the eye of the pretty Duchess, and the Duchess arose, and Mrs.
Sarrasin arose, and Hamilton held the door open, and the ladies floated
through and went upstairs. Now came the critical moment for Dolores. Had
she discovered anything? Even if she had discovered anything, was it
anything that concerned her or anyone she cared for? Should she keep her
discovery--or her fancied discovery--to herself?

The Duchess settled down beside Helena, and appeared to be made up for a
good talk with her. Mrs. Sarrasin was beginning to turn over the leaves
of a photographic album. 'Now is my time,' Dolores thought, 'and this is
the woman to talk to and to trust myself to. If she laughs at me, then I
shall feel