his well-cut clothes, his air of protestation, and his tremendous golden
poll. He was the only sunlight that the gloomy place rejoiced in. He
bowed low over my oppressor's hand, smiled upon me, and began to utter
platitudes in English.

"Oh, you may speak French," she said carelessly.

"But your brother...." he answered.

"I understand French very well," I said. I was in no mood to spare him
embarrassments; wanted to show him that I had a hold over him, and knew
he wasn't the proper person to talk to a young lady. He glared at me
haughtily.

"But yesterday ..." he began in a tone that burlesqued august
displeasure. I was wondering what he had looked like on the other side
of the door--whilst that lady had been explaining his nature to me.

"Yesterday I wished to avoid embarrassments," I said; "I was to
represent your views about Greenland. I might have misunderstood you in
some important matter."

"I see, I see," he said conciliatorily. "Yesterday we spoke English for
the benefit of the British public. When we speak French we are not in
public, I hope." He had a semi-supplicating manner.

"Everything's rather too much in public here," I answered. My part as I
imagined it was that of a British brother defending his sister from
questionable attentions--the person who "tries to show the man he isn't
wanted." But de Mersch didn't see the matter in that light at all. He