"But you have people—your family."
"Yes, I've got a brother in London, an awful snob,—also a sister."
"La Mancha, I saw the name in some paper—the Duke of—Duke of Something—Spanish Ambassador to the Court of St. James'—but, Blackguard!"—
"Well?"
"Is that your"—
"Yes, that's the Snob."
"But from what I saw he must be an awful bad lot."
The Blackguard's eyes flashed ominously. "Drop that. If you talk bad about my people I'll have to chuck you into the river. Then you'll get wet."
"And you'll be sorry. Are all your people such swells?"
For answer the Blackguard drew from beneath his undershirt a crucifix which hung from a slender chain of gold about his neck. "That's from one of my relations,"—he kissed it reverently,—"Isabella—God bless her—of Spain."