slipped through her fingers and clattered on the floor."

The padre was at a loss to understand Shere's embarrassment in
relating so small a matter.

"Well," said he, "you picked up the fan and so--"

"No," interrupted Shere. His embarrassment increased, and he stammered
out awkwardly, "Just for the moment, you see, I began to wonder
whether after all I had not been right before; whether after all
any woman would or could baulk herself of a fraction of any man's
admiration, supposing that it would only cost a trick to extort it.
And while I was wondering she herself stooped, picked up the fan, and
good-humouredly dropped me a curtsey for my lack of manners. Esteban
presented me to her that evening. There followed two magical months in
Paris and a June in London."

"But, Esteban?" said the padre, doubtfully. "I do not understand. I
know something of Esteban Silvela. A lean man of plots and devices. My
friend, do you know that Esteban has not a groat? The Silvela fortunes
and estate came from the mother and went to the daughter. Esteban
is the Señora Christina's steward, and her marriage would alter his
position at the least. Did he not spoil the magic of the months in
Paris?"

Shere laughed aloud in assured confidence.

"No, indeed," said he. "I did not know Esteban was dependent on his
sister, but what difference would her marriage make? Esteban is my
best friend. For instance, you questioned me about my uniform. It is