"Ah," said she, and smiled roguishly, "that afterthought just saved
you."

"But honestly," I continued, "the hospitality of Colonel Menendez is
true hospitality. To expect one's guests to perform their parlour
tricks around a breakfast table in the morning is, on the other hand,
true barbarism."

"I quite agree with you," she said, quietly. "There is a perfectly
delightful freedom about the Colonel's way of living. Only some horrid
old Victorian prude could possibly take exception to it. Did you enjoy
your ride?"

"Immensely," I replied, watching her delightedly as she arranged the
roses in carefully blended groups.

Her fingers were very delicate and tactile, and such is the character
which resides in the human hand, that whereas the gestures of Madame de
Staemer were curiously stimulating, there was something in the movement
of Val Beverley's pretty fingers amidst the blooms which I found most
soothing.

"I passed the Guest House on my return," I continued. "Do you know Mr.
Camber?"

She looked at me in a startled way.

"No," she replied, "I don't. Do you?"