John's eyebrows descended to their normal level, and drew together.

"Crying about my friend? What friend?" he puzzled.

"Your friend the priest--the man who has been passing the day here with
you," explained Maria Dolores.

John gave a start, threw back his head, and eyed her with astonishment.

"That is extraordinary," he exclaimed.

"What?" asked she, lightly glancing up.

"That you should call him my friend the priest," said John, wagging a
bewildered head.

"Why? Isn't he a priest? He has all the air of one," said Maria Dolores.

"No; he's an American millionaire," said John, succinctly.

Maria Dolores moved in her place, and laughed.

"Dear me!" she said, "I did strike wide of the mark. An American
millionaire should cultivate a less deceptive appearance. With that
thin, shaven face of his, and that look of an early Christian martyr in
his eyes, and the dark clothes he wears, wherever he goes he's sure to
be mistaken for a priest."

"Yes," said John, with a kind of grimness; "that's what's extraordinary.