a Newport evening party.  They don’t know where to put their hands or how to keep their feet still . . .  Your copper-bottomed English nobleman has got to keep jogging himself to treat them as equals instead of sending them down to the servants’ hall.  Their fine fixings are just the high light that reveals the everlasting jay.  They can’t be gentlemen, because they aren’t sure of themselves.  The world laughs at them, and they know it and it riles them like hell . . .  That’s why when a Graf is booted out of the Fatherland, he’s got to creep back somehow or be a wandering Jew for the rest of time.’

Blenkiron lit another cigar and fixed me with his steady, ruminating eye.

’For eight years the man has slaved, body and soul, for the men who degraded him.  He’s earned his restoration and I daresay he’s got it in his pocket.  If merit was rewarded he should be covered with Iron Crosses and Red Eagles . . .  He had a pretty good hand to start out with.  He knew other countries and he was a dandy at languages.  More, he had an uncommon gift for living a part.  That is real genius, Dick, however much it gets up against us.  Best of all he had a first-class outfit of brains.  I can’t say I ever struck a better, and I’ve come across some bright citizens in my time . . .  And now he’s going to win out, unless we get mighty busy.’

There was a knock at the door and the solid figure of Andrew Amos revealed itself.

’It’s time ye was home, Miss Mary.  It chappit half-eleven as I came up the stairs.  It’s comin’ on to rain, so I’ve brought an umbrelly.’

‘One word,’ I said.  ‘How old is the man?’

‘Just gone thirty-six,’ Blenkiron replied.

I turned to Mary, who nodded.  ‘Younger than you, Dick,’ she said wickedly as she got into her big Jaeger coat.

‘I’m going to see you home,’ I said.

’Not allowed.  You’ve had quite enough of my society for one day.  Andrew’s on escort duty tonight.’

Blenkiron looked after her as the door closed.

‘I reckon you’ve got the best girl in the world.’

‘Ivery thinks the same,’ I said grimly, for my detestation of the man who had made love to Mary fairly choked me.

’You can see why.  Here’s this degenerate coming out of his rotten class, all pampered and petted and satiated with the easy pleasures of life.  He has seen nothing of women except the bad kind and the overfed specimens of his own country.  I hate being impolite about females, but I’ve always considered the German variety uncommon like cows.  He has had desperate years of intrigue and danger, and consorting with every kind of scallawag.  Remember, he’s a big man and a poet, with a brain and an imagination that takes every grade without changing gears.  Suddenly he meets something that is as fresh and lovely as a spring flower, and has wits too, and the steeliest courage, and yet is all youth and gaiety.  It’s a new experience for him, a kind of revelation, and he’s big enough to value her as she should be valued . . .  No, Dick, I can understand you getting cross, but I reckon it an item to the man’s credit.’