As the meal progressed he grew more at ease, telling them of the little difficulties of his journey, avoiding with a tact not always found inside a better coat all mention of the sad event which had caused him to take this long journey after his travelling days were done.

That which set him at ease more than all else was the fact, at length fully grasped, that Fitz was, like himself, a sailor.  Here at least was a topic upon which he could converse with any man.  General subjects only were discussed, as if by tacit consent.  No mention was made of the future until this was somewhat rudely brought before their notice by the announcement that a second visitor desired to see the señorita.

With a more assured manner than that of his predecessor, a small, dark man came into the room, throwing off his cloak and handing it to the servant.  He bowed ceremoniously and with true Spanish grace to Eve, with less ceremony and more dignity to the two men.

“I beg that your excellency will accept the sympathy of my deepest heart,” he said.  “I regret to trouble you so soon after the great loss sustained by your excellency, indeed, by the whole island of Majorca.  But it is a matter of business.  Such things cannot be delayed.  Have I your excellency’s permission to proceed?”

“Certainly, señor.”

The man’s clean-shaven face was like a mask.  The expressions seemed to come and go as if worked by machinery.  Sympathy was turned off, and in its place Polite-Attention-to-Business appeared.  From under his arm he drew a leather portfolio, which he placed upon the table.

“The affairs of the late Cavalier Challoner were perhaps known to your excellency?”

“No; I knew nothing of my father’s affairs.”

Sympathy seemed to be struggling behind “Polite-Attention-