"For myself," he declared, "I find them charming. It is my wife
who says to me, 'Hiram, those young persons, they are not fit
company for our dear, innocent Julie! You shall speak to Mr. Trent.
He will understand!' Eh?"
Trent had finished his toilet and stood, the hairbrushes still in
his hands, looking at Da Souza's anxious face with a queer smile
upon his lips.
"Yes, I understand, Da Souza," he said. "No doubt you are right,
you cannot be too careful. You do well to be particular."
Da Souza winced. He was about to speak, but Trent interrupted him.
"Well, I'll tell you this, and you can let the missis know, my fond
father. They leave to-morrow. Is that good enough?"
Da Souza caught at his host's hand, but Trent snatched it away.
"My dear - my noble - "
"Here, shut up and don't paw me," Trent interrupted. "Mind, not a
word of this to any one but your wife; the girls don't know they're
going themselves yet."
They entered the dining-room, where every one else was already
assembled. Mrs. Da Souza, a Jewess portly and typical, resplendent
in black satin and many gold chains and bangles, occupied the seat
of honour, and by her side was a little brown girl, with dark,
timid eyes and dusky complexion, pitiably over-dressed but with a
certain elf-like beauty, which it was hard to believe that she
could ever have inherited.
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