small boots were patent-leather, and of the ordinary type. There was
nothing poetic about his attire except a reasonably wide Byron collar and
a rather dashing crimson neck-tie, well suited to his dark complexion.

His manner was sometimes excitable, as we have seen above; but usually he
was like what gentlemen with us desire to be. Perhaps he bowed lower and
smiled oftener and gestured more gracefully than Americans are apt to do.
But there was in general nothing Oriental about him, no assumption of
barbaric pompousness, no extravagance of bearing. His prevailing
deportment was calm, grave, and deliciously courteous. If you had met him,
no matter how or where, you would probably have been pleased with him. He
would have made conversation for you, and put you at ease in a moment; you
would have believed that he liked you, and you would therefore have been
disposed to like him. In short, he was agreeable to most people, and to
some people fascinating.

And then his English! It was wonderful to hear him talk it. No American
could say that he spoke better English than Coronado, and no American
surely ever spoke it so fluently. It rolled off his lips in a torrent,
undefiled by a mispronunciation or a foreign idiom. And yet he had begun
to learn the language after reaching the age of manhood, and had acquired
it mainly during three years of exile and teaching of Spanish in the
United States. His linguistic cleverness was a fair specimen of his
general quickness of intellect.

Mrs. Stanley had liked him at first sight--that is, liked him for a man.
He knew it; he had seen that she was a person worth conciliating; he had
addressed himself to her, let off his bows at her, made her the centre of
conversation. In ten minutes from the entrance of Coronado Mrs. Stanley
was of opinion that Clara ought to go to California by way of the isthmus,