"I'd make such trouble for you English that you'd be glad to leave me
in peace for a generation!"

Samson laughed good-naturedly and twisted up the end of his mustache.

"Pon my soul, you're a surprising woman! So your sympathies are all
with Gungadhura?"

"Not at all. I think he's a criminal! He buys women, and tortures animals
in an arena, and keeps a troupe of what he is pleased to call dancing-girls.
I've seen his eyes in the morning, and I suspect him of most of the
vices in the calendar. He's despicable. But if I were in his shoes I'd
find that money and make it hot for you English!"

"Are you of Irish extraction, Mrs. Blaine?"

"No, indeed I'm not. I'm Connecticut Yankee, and my husband's from
the West. I don't have to be Irish to think for myself, do I?"

Samson did not know whether or not to take her seriously, but recognized
that his chance had gone that morning for the flirtation he had had in view--
very mild, of course, for a beginning; it was his experience that most
things ought to start quite mildly, if you hoped to keep the other man
from stampeding the game. Nevertheless, as a judge of situations,
be preferred not to take his leave at that moment. Give a woman the
last word always, but be sure it is a question, which you leave unanswered.

"You've a beautiful garden," he said; and for a minute or two they talked
of flowers, of which he knew more than a little; then of music, of which
he understood a very great deal.