"Are you alone?"

"Aye!"

"Then wherefore trouble to shave your beard?"

"'Tis a whim."

"Are you alone?"

"I was."

"And I would you were again."

"So do I."

"You are Englishman--yes?"

"I am."

"My mother was English--a poor thing that spent her days weeping and died
of her tears when I was small--ah, very small, on this island."

"Here?" quoth I, staring.

"Twenty and one years agone!" said she, combing away at her glossy hair.
"My mother was English like you, but my father was a noble gentleman of
Spain and Governor of Santa Catalina, Don Esteban da Silva y Montreale, and
killed by Tressady--Black Tressady--"