te in others qualities which he did not
himself possess.

Mr. Phinuit had not returned, so there was no present opportunity to
take further note of him; though Duchemin first inferred from Mr.
Monk's manner, and later learned through a chance remark of his, that
Phinuit was his secretary.

Upon this Mr. Monk Duchemin concentrated close attention, satisfied
that he had here to do with an extraordinary personality, if not one
unique.

Mr. Whitaker Monk might have been any age between thirty-five and
fifty-five, so non-committal was that lantern-jawed countenance of a
droll, with its heavy, black, eloquent eyebrows, its high and narrow
forehead merging into an extensive bald spot fringed with greyish hair,
its rather small, blue, illegible eyes, its high-bridged nose and
prominent nostrils, its wide and thin-lipped mouth, its rather
startling pallor. Taller by a head than anybody in the room except
Duchemin, his figure was remarkably thin, yet not ill-proportioned.
Neither was Mr. Monk ill at ease or ungraceful in his actions. Clothed
in that extravagantly correct costume--correct, at least, for a
drawing-room, if never for motoring--he had all the appearance of a
comedian fresh from the hands of his dresser. One naturally expected of
him mere grotesqueries--and found simply the courteous demeanour of a
gentleman of the world. So much for externals. But what more? Nature
herself had cast Mr. Monk in the very mould of a masquerader. What
manner of man was hidden behind the mask? His words and deeds alone
would tell; Duchemin could only weigh the one and await the other.

In the meantime Mr. Monk was sketching rapidly for the benefit of
Madame de Sevenie the excuse for his present plight.

A chance meeting at Monte Carlo, he said, with his old friends, the
Comte et Comtesse de Lorgnes, had resulted in their yielding to his
insistence that they tour with him back to Paris by this roundabout
way.

"A whim of my age, madame." Somehow the nasal intonation of the
American suited singularly well his fluent French; he seemed to have
less trouble with his R's than most Anglo-Saxons. "As a young man--a
younger man--ah, well, in Ninety-four, then--I explored this country on
a walking tour, inspired by Stevenson. You know, perhaps, his diverting
Travels with a Donkey? But I daresay its spirit would hardly have
survived translation.... At all events, I had the whim to revisit some
of those well-remembered scenes. I say some, for