like this Ingledew body, capable of fighting for his Queen and
country. He's an Australian, I suppose. What tall chaps they do
send home, to be sure! Those Australians are going to lick us all
round the field presently."

"That's the curious part of it," Philip answered. "Nobody knows
what he is. He doesn't even seem to be a British subject. He calls
himself an Alien. And he speaks most disrespectfully at times--
well, not exactly perhaps of the Queen in person, but at any rate
of the monarchy."

"Utterly destitute of any feeling of respect for any power of any
sort, human or divine," the Dean remarked, with clerical severity.

"For my part," Monteith interposed, knocking his ash off savagely,
"I think the man's a swindler; and the more I see of him, the less
I like him. He's never explained to us how he came here at all, or
what the dickens he came for. He refuses to say where he lives or
what's his nationality. He poses as a sort of unexplained Caspar
Hauser. In my opinion, these mystery men are always impostors. He
had no letters of introduction to anybody at Brackenhurst; and he
thrust himself upon Philip in a most peculiar way; ever since which
he's insisted upon coming to my house almost daily. I don't like
him myself: it's Mrs. Monteith who insists upon having him here."

"He fascinates me," the General said frankly. "I don't at all
wonder the women like him. As long as he was by, though I don't
agree with one word he says, I couldn't help looking at him and
listening to him intently."