"And they declined," interrupted the consul.

Gray glanced at him quickly.

"Well, yes; that's all right enough. They don't know me, you see, but
they do know you; and the fact is, I was thinking that as you're our
consul here, don't you see, and sort of responsible for me, you might
say that it was all right, you know. Quite the customary thing with us
over there. And you might say, generally, who I am."

"I see," said the consul deliberately. "Tell them you're Bob Gray, with
more money and time than you know what to do with; that you have a
fine taste for yachting and shooting and racing, and amusing yourself
generally; that you find that THEY amuse you, and you would like your
luxury and your dollars to stand as an equivalent to their independence
and originality; that, being a good republican yourself, and recognizing
no distinction of class, you don't care what this may mean to them, who
are brought up differently; that after their cruise with you you don't
care what life, what friends, or what jealousies they return to; that
you know no ties, no responsibilities beyond the present, and that you
are not a marrying man."

"Look here, I say, aren't you making a little too much of this?" said
Gray stiffly.

The consul laughed. "I should be glad to know that I am."

Gray rose. "We'll be dropping down the river to-morrow," he said, with
a return of his usual lightness, "and I reckon I'll be toddling down to
the wharf. Good-bye, if I don't see you again."