"I chanced to be passing the main vestibule and saw you. Benito's patriotism was opposing your way. No?"
They were walking along a wide corridor of the mansion. Sunlight poured in through many small-paned windows. Peons, men and women, were constantly going and coming.
"This Benito's patriotism should be flogged out of his skin," was the reply.
The lady laughed. They reached a large door which she opened by pressing a spring at the side.
"His patriotism, then, is but skin deep, you think?"
She motioned the Captain to a chair. The door slammed with a metallic click. They were in a small room well lighted. Book shelves, closely filled, writing material, and desks, bespoke the library.
"I fancy this creature's patriotism would well be termed impertinence. This have I seen often enough disappear under fervent application of a riding-whip."
She looked closely at the speaker.
"Captain Farquharson," after a moment, "you have been in the Californias more months than I have weeks. Neither is this your first visit. No?"
"It is not."