"Oh yes," he said, "of course, you are anything we please. And if we should turn out, after all, to be Carlists, you would swear that you are a Carlist again. Doesn't it strike you, señor, that you are trifling with us?"
"I assure you, Captain Lopez," said Brooke, "that I'm not a Carlist, for I'm not a Spaniard."
"You may not be a Spaniard, yet still be a devoted Carlist."
"Yes, but I'm not. I assure you that I'm a Republican. Shall I prove it to you and to all these gentlemen?"
"Try it," sneered Lopez.
"I'm an American," said Brooke.
"An American," repeated Lopez, bitterly. "Better for you to be a Carlist than that. Is it not enough for you Americans to intermeddle with our affairs in Cuba, and help our rebels there, but must you also come to help our rebels here? But come—what is your business here? Let's see what new pretence you have to offer."
"I am a traveller."
"Yes, I suppose so," sneered Lopez. "And who is this other?"
"He is a young priest."