That, possibly, is why I noticed the very first chirp of another frog
outside. It continued, and I found myself watching my host covertly.
Sure enough, after a few repetitions I saw subtle signs of uneasiness,
of divided attention; and soon, again without apology or explanation, he
glided from the room. And at the same instant the old Mexican servitor
came and pretended to fuss with the lamps.

My curiosity was now thoroughly aroused, but I could guess no means of
satisfying it. Like the bedroom, this parlour gave out only on the
interior court. The flash of lanterns against the ceiling above reached
me. All I could do was to wander about looking at the objects in the
cabinet and the pictures on the walls. There was, I remember, a set of
carved ivory chessmen and an engraving of the legal trial of some
English worthy of the seventeenth century. But my hearing was alert, and
I thought to hear footsteps outside. At any rate, the chirp of the frog
came to an abrupt end.

Shortly my host returned and took up his monologue. It amounted to
that. He seemed to delight in choosing unusual subjects and then backing
me into a corner with an array of well-considered phrases that allowed
me no opening for reply nor even comment. In one of my desperate
attempts to gain even a momentary initiative I asked him, apropos of the
piano, whether his daughter played.

"Do you like music?" he added, and without waiting for a reply seated
himself at the instrument.

He played to me for half an hour. I do not know much about music; but I
know he played well and that he played good things. Also that, for the