had been merely an echo of his own thoughts.

"No," he admitted frankly. "Indeed I hardly know how it happened that
I invited him to join our party. It seemed natural enough then, but
lately I confess to having taken a dislike to the fellow, and have
begun to imagine that he even pushed his way on me. But," he stopped,
suddenly realizing what he was saying, "why do you ask?"

I was not wholly prepared to say, yet as instantly comprehended the
prompt necessity of advancing some reasonable explanation. There came
to me swiftly, from the sharpness of his question, the paralyzing
knowledge that I was a servant addressing my master.

"Of course it is no business of mine," I confessed, rather lamely,
"who your guests are. I'm sorry I spoke."

"It is altogether too late to say that," he insisted. "Some thought
prompted the inquiry. Go on. See here, Carlyle, you are no nigger or
white thief. I know the difference, and recognize that you are
gentleman born. Because I've bought your services for a term of years,
is no reason why you cannot talk to me like a man. Do you know
anything about this Spaniard?"

"Not very much, sir. He has seen fit to threaten me, on account of
some row he has had with a brother of mine in England."

"In England! The Duke of Bucclough?"

"Yes. I haven't the slightest knowledge of what it was all about, but
evidently our Spanish friend got the worst of it. He planned to buy me