n my pocket--a language which he understood, and for
which (the Blessed Mother be thanked!) he perceived that I meant to
offer battle immediately, though at that moment he offered me an open
smile of benevolence. He knew nothing of my new cause for war; there was
enough of the old!

The others were observing us.

"You have met?" asked the gentle voice of Miss Landry. "You know each
other?"

"Exceedingly!" I answered, bowing low to her.

"The dinner is waiting in our own salon," said Mrs. Landry,
interrupting. She led the way with Antonio to an open door on the
terrace where servants were attending, and such a forest of flowers on
the table and about the room as almost to cause her escort to stagger;
for I knew, when I caught sight of them, that he had never been wise
enough to send them. Neither had Poor Jr. done it out of wisdom, but
because of his large way of performing everything, and his wish that
loveliest things should be a background for that lady.

Alas for him! Those great jars of perfume, orchids and hyacinths and
roses, almost shut her away from his vision. We were at a small round
table, and she directly in opposition to him. Upon her right was
Antonio, and my heart grew cold to see how she listened to him.

For Antonio could talk. At that time he spoke English even better than
I, though without some knowledge of the North-American idiom which my
travels with Poor Jr. had given me. He was one of those splendid egoists
who seem to talk in modesty, to keep themselves behind scenes, yet who,
when the curtain falls, are discovered to be the heroes, after all,
though shown in so delicate a fashion that the audience flatters itself
in the discovery.

And how practical was this fellow, how many years he had been developing
his fascinations! I was the only person of that small company who could
have a suspicion that his moustache was dyed, that his hair was toupee,
or that hints of his real age were scorpions and adders to him. I should
not have thought it, if I had not known it. Here was my advantage: I had
known his monstrous vanity all my life.

So he talked of himself in his various surreptitious ways until coffee
came, Miss Landry listening eagerly, and my poor friend making no
effort; for what were his quiet United States absurdities compared to
the whole-world gaieties and Abyssinian adventures of this Othello,
particularly for a young girl to whom Antonio's type was unfamiliar? For
the first time