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the world, could see on the big sofa during the gatherings in

Allegre's exclusive Pavilion: the Dona Rita of their respectful



addresses, manifest and mysterious, like an object of art from some

unknown period; the Dona Rita of the initiated Paris. Dona Rita



and nothing more - unique and indefinable." He stopped with a

disagreeable smile.



"And of peasant stock?" I exclaimed in the strangelyconscious

silence that fell between Mills and Blunt.



"Oh! All these Basques have been ennobled by Don Sanche II," said

Captain Blunt moodily. "You see coats of arms carved over the



doorways of the most miserable caserios. As far as that goes she's

Dona Rita right enough whatever else she is or is not in herself or



in the eyes of others. In your eyes, for instance, Mills. Eh?"

For a time Mills preserved that conscious silence.



"Why think about it at all?" he murmured coldly at last. "A

strange bird is hatched sometimes in a nest in an unaccountable way



and then the fate of such a bird is bound to be ill-defined,

uncertain, questionable. And so that is how Henry Allegre saw her



first? And what happened next?"

"What happened next?" repeated Mr. Blunt, with an affected surprise



in his tone. "Is it necessary to ask that question? If you had

asked HOW the next happened. . . But as you may imagine she hasn't



told me anything about that. She didn't," he continued with polite

sarcasm, "enlarge upon the facts. That confounded Allegre, with



his impudent assumption of princely airs, must have (I shouldn't

wonder) made the fact of his notice appear as a sort of favour



dropped from Olympus. I really can't tell how the minds and the

imaginations of such aunts and uncles are affected by such rare



visitations. Mythology may give us a hint. There is the story of

Danae, for instance."



"There is," remarked Mills calmly, "but I don't remember any aunt

or uncle in that connection."



"And there are also certain stories of the discovery and

acquisition of some unique objects of art. The sly approaches, the



astute negotiations, the lying and the circumventing . . . for the

love of beauty, you know."



With his dark face and with the perpetual smiles playing about his

grimness, Mr. Blunt appeared to me positively satanic. Mills' hand



was toying absently with an empty glass. Again they had forgotten

my existence altogether.



"I don't know how an object of art would feel," went on Blunt, in

an unexpectedlygrating voice, which, however, recovered its tone



immediately. "I don't know. But I do know that Rita herself was

not a Danae, never, not at any time of her life. She didn't mind



the holes in her stockings. She wouldn't mind holes in her

stockings now. . . That is if she manages to keep any stockings at



all," he added, with a sort of suppressed fury so funnily

unexpected that I would have burst into a laugh if I hadn't been



lost in astonishment of the simplest kind.

"No - really!" There was a flash of interest from the quiet Mills.



"Yes, really," Blunt nodded and knitted his brows very devilishly

indeed. "She may yet be left without a single pair of stockings."



"The world's a thief," declared Mills, with the utmost composure.

"It wouldn't mind robbing a lonely traveller."



"He is so subtle." Blunt remembered my existence for the purpose

of that remark and as usual it made me very uncomfortable.



"Perfectly true. A lonely traveller. They are all in the scramble

from the lowest to the highest. Heavens! What a gang! There was



even an Archbishop in it."

"Vous plaisantez," said Mills, but without any marked show of



incredulity.

"I joke very seldom," Blunt protested earnestly. "That's why I



haven't mentioned His Majesty - whom God preserve. That would have

been an exaggeration. . . However, the end is not yet. We were






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