TANNER。　My　escort。
  Mendoza；　with　a　Mephistophelean　smile；　bows　profoundly。　An
  irrepressible　grin　runs　from　face　to　face　among　the　brigands。　They
  touch　their　hats；　except　the　Anarchist；　who　defies　the　State　with
  folded　arms。
  ACT　IV
  The　garden　of　a　villa　in　Granada。　Whoever　wishes　to　know　what　it
  is　like　must　go　to　Granada　and　see。　One　may　prosaically　specify　a
  group　of　hills　dotted　with　villas；　the　Alhambra　on　the　top　of　one
  of　the　hills；　and　a　considerable　town　in　the　valley；　approached
  by　dusty　white　roads　in　which　the　children；　no　matter　what　they
  are　doing　or　thinking　about；　automatically　whine　for　halfpence
  and　reach　out　little　clutching　brown　palms　for　them；　but　there　is
  nothing　in　this　description　except　the　A1hambra；　the　begging；　and
  the　color　of　the　roads；　that　does　not　fit　Surrey　as　well　as
  Spain。　The　difference　is　that　the　Surrey　hills　are　comparatively
  small　and　ugly；　and　should　properly　be　called　the　Surrey
  Protuberances；　but　these　Spanish　hills　are　of　mountain　stock：　the
  amenity　which　conceals　their　size　does　not　compromise　their
  dignity。
  This　particular　garden　is　on　a　hill　opposite　the　Alhambra；　and
  the　villa　is　as　expensive　and　pretentious　as　a　villa　must　be　if
  it　is　to　be　let　furnished　by　the　week　to　opulent　American　and
  English　visitors。　If　we　stand　on　the　lawn　at　the　foot　of　the
  garden　and　look　uphill；　our　horizon　is　the　stone　balustrade　of　a
  flagged　platform　on　the　edge　of　infinite　space　at　the　top　of　the
  hill。　Between　us　and　this　platform　is　a　flower　garden　with　a
  circular　basin　and　fountain　in　the　centre；　surrounded　by
  geometrical　flower　beds；　gravel　paths；　and　clipped　yew　trees　in
  the　genteelest　order。　The　garden　is　higher　than　our　lawn；　so　we
  reach　it　by　a　few　steps　in　the　middle　of　its　embankment。　The
  platform　is　higher　again　than　the　garden；　from　which　we　mount　a
  couple　more　steps　to　look　over　the　balustrade　at　a　fine　view　of
  the　town　up　the　valley　and　of　the　hills　that　stretch　away　beyond
  it　to　where；　in　the　remotest　distance；　they　become　mountains。　On
  our　left　is　the　villa；　accessible　by　steps　from　the　left　hand
  corner　of　the　garden。　Returning　from　the　platform　through　the
  garden　and　down　again　to　the　lawn　（a　movement　which　leaves　the
  villa　behind　us　on　our　right）　we　find　evidence　of　literary
  interests　on　the　part　of　the　tenants　in　the　fact　that　there　is　no
  tennis　net　nor　set　of　croquet　hoops；　but；　on　our　left；　a　little
  iron　garden　table　with　books　on　it；　mostly　yellow…backed；　and　a
  chair　beside　it。　A　chair　on　the　right　has　also　a　couple　of　open
  books　upon　it。　There　are　no　newspapers；　a　circumstance　which；
  with　the　absence　of　games；　might　lead　an　intelligent　spectator　to
  the　most　far　reaching　conclusions　as　to　the　sort　of　people　who
  live　in　the　villa。　Such　speculations　are　checked；　however；　on
  this　delightfully　fine　afternoon；　by　the　appearance　at　a　little
  gate　in　a　paling　an　our　left；　of　Henry　Straker　in　his
  professional　costume。　He　opens　the　gate　for　an　elderly　gentleman；
  and　follows　him　on　to　the　lawn。
  This　elderly　gentleman　defies　the　Spanish　sun　in　a　black　frock
  coat；　tall　silk　bat；　trousers　in　which　narrow　stripes　of　dark
  grey　and　lilac　blend　into　a　highly　respectable　color；　and　a　black
  necktie　tied　into　a　bow　over　spotless　linen。　Probably　therefore　a
  man　whose　social　position　needs　constant　and　scrupulous
  affirmation　without　regard　to　climate：　one　who　would　dress　thus
  for　the　middle　of　the　Sahara　or　the　top　of　Mont　Blanc。　And　since
  he　has　not　the　stamp　of　the　class　which　accepts　as　its
  life…mission　the　advertizing　and　maintenance　of　first　rate
  tailoring　and　millinery；　he　looks　vulgar　in　his　finery；　though　in
  a　working　dress　of　any　kind　he　would　look　dignified　enough。　He　is
  a　bullet　cheeked　man　with　a　red　complexion；　stubbly　hair；
  smallish　eyes；　a　hard　mouth　that　folds　down　at　the　corners；　and　a
  dogged　chin。　The　looseness　of　skin　that　comes　with　age　has
  attacked　his　throat　and　the　laps　of　his　cheeks；　but　he　is　still
  hard　as　an　apple　above　the　mouth；　so　that　the　upper　half　of　his
  face　looks　younger　than　the　lower。　He　has　the　self…confidence　of
  one　who　has　made　money；　and　something　of　the　truculence　of　one
  who　has　made　it　in　a　brutalizing　struggle；　his　civility　having
  under　it　a　perceptible　menace　that　he　has　other　methods　in
  reserve　if　necessary。　Withal；　a　man　to　be　rather　pitied　when　he
  is　not　to　be　feared；　for　there　is　something　pathetic　about　him　at
  times；　as　if　the　huge　commercial　machine　which　has　worked　him
  into　his　frock　coat　had　allowed　him　very　little　of　his　own　way
  and　left　his　affections　hungry　and　baffled。　At　the　first　word
  that　falls　from　him　it　is　clear　that　he　is　an　Irishman　whose
  native　intonation　has　clung　to　him　through　many　changes　of　place
  and　rank。　One　can　only　guess　that　the　original　material　of　his
  speech　was　perhaps　the　surly　Kerry　brogue；　but　the　degradation　of
  speech　that　occurs　in　London；　Glasgow；　Dublin　and　big　cities
  generally　has　been　at　work　on　it　so　long　that　nobody　but　an
  arrant　cockney　would　dream　of　calling　it　a　brogue　now；　for　its
  music　is　almost　gone；　though　its　surliness　is　still　perceptible。
  Straker；　as　a　very　obvious　cockney；　inspires　him　with　implacable
  contempt；　as　a　stupid　Englishman　who　cannot　even　speak　his　own
  language　properly。　Straker；　on　the　other　hand；　regards　the　old
  gentleman's　accent　as　a　joke　thoughtfully　provided　by　Providence
  expressly　for　the　amusement　of　the　British　race；　and　treats　him
  normally　with　the　indulgence　due　to　an　inferior　and　unlucky
  species；　but　occasionally　with　indignant　alarm　when　the　old
  gentleman　shows　signs　of　intending　his　Irish　nonsense　to　be　taken
  seriously。
  STRAKER。　I'll　go　tell　the　young　lady。　She　said　you'd　prefer　to
  stay　here　＇he　turns　to　go　up　through　the　garden　to　the　villa＇。
  MALONE。　＇who　has　been　looking　round　him　with　lively　curiosity＇
  The　young　lady？　That's　Miss　Violet；　eh？
  STRAKER。　＇stopping　on　the　steps　with　sudden　suspicion＇　Well；　you
  know；　don't　you？
  MALONE。　Do　　I？
  STRAKER。　＇his　temper　rising＇　Well；　do　you　or　don't　you？
  MALONE。　What　business　is　that　of　yours？
  Straker；　now　highly　indignant；　comes　back　from　the　steps　and
  confronts　the　visitor。
  STRAKER。　I'll　tell　you　what　business　it　is　of　mine。　Miss
  Robinson
  MALONE。　＇interrupting＇　Oh；　her　name　is　Robinson；　is　it？　Thank
  you。
  STRAKER。　Why；　you　don't　know　even　her　name？
  MALONE。　Yes　I　do；　now　that　you've　told　me。
  STRAKER。　＇after　a　moment　of　stupefaction　at　the　old　man's
  readiness　in　repartee＇　Look　here：　what　do　you　mean　by　gittin　into
  my　car　and　lettin　me　bring　you　here　if　you're　not　the　person　I
  took　that　note　to？
  MALONE。　Who　else　did　you　take　it　to；　pray？
  STRAKER。　I　took　it　to　Mr　Ector　Malone；　at　Miss　Robinson's
  request；　see？　Miss　Robinson　is　not　my　principal：　I　took　it　to
  oblige　her。　I　know　Mr　Malone；　and　he　ain't　you；　not　by　a　long
  chalk。　At　the　hotel　they　told　me　that　your　name　is　Ector　Malone。
  MALONE。　Hector　Malone。
  STRAKER。　＇with　calm　superiority＇　Hector　in　your　own　country：
  that's　what　comes　o　livin　in　provincial　places　like　Ireland　and
  America。　Over　here　you're　Ector：　if　you　avn't　noticed　it　before
  you　soon　will。
  The　growing　strain　of　the　conversation　is　here　relieved　by
  Violet；　who　has　sallied　from　the　villa　and　through　the　garden　to
  the　steps；　which　she　now　descends；　coming　very　opportunely
  between　Malone　and　Straker。
  VIOLET。　＇to　Straker＇　Did　you　take　my　message？
  STRAKER。　Yes；　miss。　I　took　it　to　the　hotel　and　sent　it　up；
  expecting　to　see　young　Mr　Malone。　Then　out　walks　this　gent；　and
  says　it's　all　right　and　he'll　come　with　me。　So　as　the　hotel
  people　said　he　was　Mr　Ector　Malone；　I　fetched　him。　And　now　he
  goes　back　on　what　he　said。　But　if　he　isn't　the　gentleman　you
  meant；　say　the　word：　it's　easy　enough　to　fetch　him　back　again。
  MALONE。　I　should　esteem　it　a　great　favor　if　I　might　have　a　short
  conversation　with　you；　madam。　I　am　Hector's　father；　as　this
  bright　Britisher　would　have　guessed　in　the　course　of　another　hour
  or　so。
  STRAKER。　＇coolly　defiant＇　No；　not　in　another　year　or　so。　When
  we've　ad　you　as　long　to　polish　up　as　we've　ad　im；　perhaps　you'll
  begin　to　look　a　little　bit　up　to　is　mark。　At　present　you　fall　a
  long　way　short。　You've　got　too　many　aitches；　for　one　thing。　＇To
  Violet；　amiably＇　All　right；　Miss：　you　want　to　talk　to　him：　I
  shan't　intrude。　＇He　nods　affably　to　Malone　and　goes　out　through
  the　little　gate　in　the　paling＇。
  VIOLET。　＇very　civilly＇　I　am　so　sorry；　Mr　Malone；　if　that　man　has
  been　rude　to　you。　But　what　can　we　do？　He　is　our　chauffeur。
  MALONE。　Your　what？
  VIOLET。　The　driver　of　our　automobile。　He　can　drive　a　motor　car　at
  seventy　miles　an　hour；　and　mend　it　when　it　breaks　down。　We　are
  dependent　on　our　motor　cars；　and　our　motor　cars　are　dependent　on
  him；　so　of　course　we　are　dependent　on　him。
  MALONE。　I've　noticed；　madam；　that　every　thousand　dollars　an
  Englishman　gets　seems　to　add　one　to　the　number　of　people　he's
  dependent　on。　However；　you　needn't　apologize　for　your　man：　I　made
  him　talk　on　purpose。　By　doing　so　I　learnt　that　you're　staying
  here　in　Grannida　with　a　party　of　English；　including　my　son
  Hector。
  VIOLET。　＇conversationally＇　Yes。　We　intended　to　go　to　Nice；　but　we
  had　to　follow　a　rather　eccentric　member　of　our　party　who　started
  f