and we both smiled without openly looking at each other. At the
end of the Rue de Rome the violent chilly breath of the mistral
enveloped the victoria in a great widening of brilliant sunshine
without heat. We turned to the right, circling at a stately pace
about the rather mean obelisk which stands at the entrance to the
Prado.

"I don't know whether you are mature or not," said Mills
humorously. "But I think you will do. You . . . "

"Tell me," I interrupted, "what is really Captain Blunt's position
there?"

And I nodded at the alley of the Prado opening before us between
the rows of the perfectly leafless trees.

"Thoroughly false, I should think. It doesn't accord either with
his illusions or his pretensions, or even with the real position he
has in the world. And so what between his mother and the General
Headquarters and the state of his own feelings he. . . "

"He is in love with her," I interrupted again.

"That wouldn't make it any easier. I'm not at all sure of that.
But if so it can't be a very idealistic sentiment. All the warmth
of his idealism is concentrated upon a certain 'Americain,
Catholique et gentil-homme. . . '"

The smile which for a moment dwelt on his lips was not unkind.