 fleshy and very much
foreshortened goddess of some sort depicted on the ceiling in an enormous
composition in the Italian style that he let fall casually the words, She will
manage it for you quite easily.
    »Every Carlist agent in Bayonne assured me of that,« said Mr. Mills. »I
would have gone straight to Paris only I was told she had fled here for a rest;
tired, discontented. Not a very encouraging report.«
    »These flights are well known,« muttered Mr. Blunt. »You shall see her all
right.«
    »Yes. They told me that you ...«
    I broke in: »You mean to say that you expect a woman to arrange that sort of
thing for you?«
    »A trifle, for her,« Mr. Blunt remarked indifferently. »At that sort of
thing women are best. They have less scruples.«
    »More audacity,« interjected Mr. Mills almost in a whisper.
    Mr. Blunt kept quiet for a moment, then: »You see,« he addressed me in a
most refined tone, »a mere man may suddenly find himself being kicked down the
stairs.«
    I don't know why I should have felt shocked by that statement. It could not
be because it was untrue. The other did not give me time to offer any remark. He
inquired with extreme politeness what did I know of South American republics? I
confessed that I knew very little of them. Wandering about the Gulf of Mexico I
had a look-in here and there; and amongst others I had a few days in Haiti which
was of course unique, being a negro republic. On this Captain Blunt began to
talk of negroes at large. He talked of them with knowledge, intelligence, and a
sort of contemptuous affection. He generalized, he particularized about the
blacks; he told anecdotes. I was interested, a little incredulous, and
considerably surprised. What could this man with such a boulevardier exterior
that he looked positively like an exile in a provincial town, and with his
drawing-room manner - what could he know of negroes?
    Mills, sitting silent with his air of watchful intelligence, seemed to read
my thoughts, waved his pipe slightly and explained: »The Captain is from South
Carolina.«
    »Oh,« I murmured, and then after the slightest of pauses I heard the second
of Mr. J.K. Blunt's declarations.
    »Yes,« he said. »Je suis Américain, catholique et gentilhomme,« in a tone
contrasting so strongly
