At sight of me Charmian burst out laughing, the which, though I had expected it, angered me nevertheless.

“Why, Peter!” she exclaimed, “you look like—­”

“A very low fellow!” said I, “say a village blacksmith who has been at his ablutions.”

“If you only had rings in your ears, and a scarf round your head, you would be the image of a Spanish brigand—­or like the man Mina whose exploits The Gazette is full of—­a Spanish general, I think.”

“A guerrilla leader,” said I, taking my place at the table, “and a singularly cold-blooded villain—­indeed I think it probable that we much resemble one another; is it any wonder that I am shunned by my kind—­avoided by the ignorant and regarded askance by the rest?”

“Why, Peter!” said Charmian, regarding me with grave eyes, “what do you mean?”

“I mean that the country folk hereabout go out of their way to avoid crossing my path—­not that, I suppose, they ever heard of Mina, but because of my looks.”

“Your looks?”

“They think me possessed of the ‘Evil Eye’ or some such folly —­may I cut you a piece of bread?”

“Oh, Peter!”

“Already, by divers honest-hearted rustics, I am credited with having cast a deadly spell upon certain unfortunate pigs, with having fought hand to hand with the hosts of the nethermost pit, and with having sold my soul to the devil—­may I trouble you to pass the butter?”

“Oh, Peter, how foolish of them!”

“And how excusable! considering their ignorance and superstition,” said I.  “Mine, I am well aware, is not a face to win me the heart of man, woman, or child; they (especially women and children) share, in common with dogs and horses, that divine attribute which, for want of a better name, we call ‘instinct,’ whereby they love or hate for the mere tone of a voice, the glance of an eye, the motion of a hand, and, the love or hate once given, the prejudice for, or against, is seldom wholly overcome.”

“Indeed,” said Charmian, “I believe in first impressions.”

“Being a woman,” said I.

“Being a woman!” she nodded; “and the instinct of dog and child and woman has often proved true in the end.”

“Surely instinct is always true?” said I—­“I’d thank you for another cup of tea—­yet, strangely enough, dogs generally make friends with me very readily, and the few children to whom I’ve spoken have neither screamed nor run away from me.  Still, as I said before, I am aware that my looks are scarcely calculated to gain the love of man, woman, or child; not that it matters greatly, seeing that I am likely to hold very little converse with either.”

“There is one woman, Peter, to whom you have talked by the hour together—­”

“And who is doubtless weary enough of it all—­more especially of Epictetus and Trojan Helen.”

“Two lumps of sugar, Peter?”

“Thank you!  Women are very like flowers—­” I began.