A kind of dull anger stirred in the doctor's breast at hearing Bess so flippantly alluded to. But he saw that Joyce did not mean any harm, so turned off the remark with a laugh. "She is a charming young lady Robin. But she is better as a comrade than she would be as a wife."
"A comrade is what you want," said Joyce shrewdly. "Your luke-warm affection will not win you the love of a woman."
"Perhaps not. However we shall see," Herrick was annoyed, for he felt there was some truth in this remark. He was glad when a ring came to the door and interrupted a conversation which was rapidly getting unpleasant to him. "There's your friend. Who is he?"
"A Mexican called Don Manuel Santiago."
"Humph! It it not often one foregathers with that nationality in London. Where did you meet him?"
"At the Apollo Club, Johnstone introduced me to him. Here he is. I think you will like him."
Herrick was not so sure. He had met with Mexicans on their native heath and did not like the breed. However as the man was the guest of Joyce, he felt compelled to behave at least politely. All the same knowing Robin's weakness in picking up doubtful acquaintances, he determined to be observant of the Mexican.
"Dr. Herrick, Don Manuel Santiago. And this Señor, is my very best friend."
The little dark man clicked his heels together, foreign fashion, and bowed politely. Herrick looked at him from head to foot in one swift glance, and made up his mind that the man was a rogue, an adventurer, if nothing worse. He was not tall, and he was very lean. His face was swarthy; he had a hook nose, a black moustache, and a pair of restless shifty dark eyes. Accurately dressed in an evening suit, he wore too much jewellery. Yet for all this he did not look vulgar. There was a somewhat dangerous air about him. Herrick watching his face intently made up his mind that Don Manuel was a half caste Indian.
"I am pleased to meet you Señor," said Don Manuel in good English but with a foreign accent. "Dr. Herrick? Ah! I know the name."