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He did not seem sure
that his companion had chosen the right, or at any rate the best, word
to describe his feelings. In response she amended her question.
"Well, I mean, what do you see in him?"
Here was another fatal question, for Dick saw everything in him. Hastily
cutting across the eulogies, she demanded particulars--who was he, where
did he come from, and so forth. On these heads Dick's account was
scanty; Quisante's father had grown wine in Spain; and Quisante himself
had an old aunt in London.
"Not much of a genealogy," she suggested. Dick was absurd enough to
quote "_Je suis un ancetre_." "Oh, if you're as silly as that!" she
exclaimed with an annoyed laugh.
"He's the man we want."
"You and Jimmy?"
"The country," Dick explained gravely. He had plenty of humour for other
subjects, but Quisante, it seemed, was too sacred. "Look here," he went
on. "Come and meet him again. Amy's going out of town next week and
we'll have a little party for him."
"That happens best when Amy's away?"
"Well, women are so----"
"Yes, I know.


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