“Not many white men,” she said, “except—the missionary.”
Black Pawl laughed unpleasantly. “He’s not a man; he’s a woman.”
“He’s the finest and bravest of men.”
“Oh, aye,” said the Captain. “He’s a man, after his kind.”
“And I love him,” she declared.
“Him too?” Black Pawl mocked.
There was an implication in his tone that colored her cheeks; but she said nothing. Black Pawl leaned toward her. “Dan Darrin is all right,” he said deprecatingly. “But—he’s a boy. He’s not a man grown, yet. You’d do best to pick a man.”
“Dan’s a man,” she cried.
He shook his head stubbornly. “A good boy; but not a man yet. He needs ripening.”
She said thoughtfully: “Don’t you think it’s natural for people to—like people of their own age?”