Suddenly the President roused up. “Who is she?” he asked.
“She’s the bastard daughter of a negro priest,” replied Ames in an ugly tone.
“What––she? That beautiful girl––! I don’t believe it!”
“By God, she is!” cried the thoroughly angered Ames, bringing a huge fist down hard upon the desk. “And I’ve got the proof! And, what’s more, she’s head over heels in love with another renegade priest!
“But that’s neither here nor there,” he continued savagely. “I want to know what you are going to do for us?”
“I––I do not see, Mr. Ames, that I can do anything,” replied the President meditatively.
“Well––will you leave the details to us, and do as we tell you then?” the financier pursued, taking another tack.
The President hesitated. Then he raised his head. “You say you have proof?” he asked.
“Proof?”