'I lived there for ages.'

'Many conquests, sir?' inquired Mr Tupman.

'Conquests! Thousands. Don Bolaro Fizzgig - a grandee - his only daughter - Donna Christina - a splendid creature - loved me to distraction'.

'There was this jealous father - high-spirited daughter in love with handsome Englishman - Donna Christina in despair - took prussic acid - fortunately there was a stomach pump in my portmanteau - operation performed - old Bolaro in ecstasies - consent to our union - join hands and floods of tears - romantic story - very.'

'Is the lady in England now, sir?' inquired Mr Tupman, on whom the description of Donna Christina's charms had produced a powerful impression.

'Dead, sir - dead,' said the stranger, applying to his right eye the brief remnant of a very old cambric handkerchief. 'Never recovered from the stomach pump - it undermined her health, killed her.'

'And her father?' inquired the poetic Snodgrass.