"You tell 'im that, sir," Gil said softly. "Thata best of all."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, sir, then 'e tell you what Don Luis, 'e do."
"Show him in," said Manvers.
The Marqués de Fuenterrabia was a white-whiskered, irascible personage, of stately manners and slight stature. He wore a blue frock-coat, and nankeen trousers over riding-boots. His face was one uniform pink, his eyes small, fierce, and blue. They appeared to emit heat as well as light; for it was a frequent trick of their proprietor's to snatch at his spectacles and wipe the mist from them with a bandana handkerchief. Unglazed, his eyes showed a blank and indiscriminate ferocity which Manvers found exceedingly comical.
They bowed to each other—the Marqués with ceremonious cordiality, Manvers with the stiffness of an Englishman to an unknown visitor. Gil Perez hovered in the background, as it were, on the tips of his toes.
The Marqués, having made his bow, said nothing. His whole attitude seemed to imply, "Well, what next?"
Manvers said that he was at his service; and then the Marqués explained himself.
"My friend, Don Luis Ramonez de Alavia," he said, "has entrusted me with his confidence. It appears that a series of occurrences, involving his happiness, honour and dignity at once, can be traced to your Excellency's intromission in his affairs. I take it that your Excellency does not deny——"
"Pardon me," Manvers said, "I deny it absolutely."