never lost, and I pray that she may never lose it while I remain with
her--"but in the little intercourses of the world, no! A Spaniard
never forgets what is personally due either to himself or his
neighbours. If he is eating an onion, he eats it as an onion should
be eaten."

"In such matters as that he is very grand, no doubt," said I,
angrily.

"And why should you not eat an onion properly, John? Now, I heard a
story yesterday from Don--about two Englishmen, which annoyed me very
much." I did not exactly catch the name of the Don in question but I
felt through every nerve in my body that it was the man who had been
talking to her on the plaza.

"And what have they done?" said I. "But it is the same everywhere.
We are always abused; but, nevertheless, no people are so welcome.
At any rate, we pay for the mischief we do." I was angry with myself
the moment the words were out of my mouth, for, after all, there is
no feeling more mean than that pocket-confidence with which an
Englishman sometimes swaggers.

"There was no mischief done in this case," she answered. "It was
simply that two men have made themselves ridiculous for ever. The
story is all about Seville, and, of course, it annoys me that they
should be Englishmen."

"And what did they do?"

"The Marquis D'Almavivas was coming up to Seville in the boat, and