"I had a toothache," she said, "and Mrs. Da Souza, or whatever the
old cat calls herself, was most rude. I reckon myself as respectable
as she is any day, dragging that yellow-faced daughter of hers about
with her and throwing her at men's heads."
Miss Montressor, who had stopped to pick a flower, rejoined them.
"I say, General," she remarked, "fair's fair, and a promise is a
promise. We didn't come down here to be made fools of by a fat old
Jewess. You won't send us away because of the old wretch?"
"I promise," said Trent, "that when she goes you go, and not before.
Is that sufficient?"
"Right oh!" the young lady declared cheerfully. "Now you go and
prink up for dinner. We're ready, Flossie and I. The little Jew
girl's got a new dress - black covered with sequins. It makes her
look yellower than ever. There goes the bell, and we're both as
hungry as hunters. Look sharp!"
Trent entered the house. Da Souza met him in the hall, sleek,
curly, and resplendent in a black dinner-suit. The years had dealt
lightly with him, or else the climate of England was kinder to his
yellow skin than the moist heat of the Gold Coast. He greeted Trent
with a heartiness which was partly tentative, partly boisterous.
"Back from the coining of the shekels, my dear friend," he
exclaimed.
Pages:
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97