"No, you always cut yourself short when you begin to talk about your people."
"Do I? Well, what's sauce for the gander's sauce for the goose and you're the goose. Did you ever speak to me about your folk? Not one word, unless I dragged it out. Look here, Laura, are you trying to wrangle? Because if so, and if it's my fault, just say what's the crime, and give me my licking and get it over. I've got a clear conscience, and I'll be as penitent as you please."
"My dear, you've been perfect."
"Oh, I say," said Carter, "not too sudden. That sort of thing brings on heart attacks."
"I know your temptations, and you've been an honorable gentleman all through."
"I wish," said Carter whimsically, "you could persuade other people to look at me in that light. A missionary on the steamer yesterday called me a gin-selling ruffian because I happened to be sitting in his deck chair; one of the Protectorate officials a week ago accused me of being a smuggling gun-runner, because I've been up country and happened to get on with the native local headmen instead of scrapping with them, and Miss K. O'Neill, of our mutual acquaintance, has given me to understand that if I don't quit poaching on what she's pleased to call O'Neill and Craven's territory, she'll run me out of business. To give her her due I gather she proposes to pay me something to clear out."
"And you're going to take it from her?"
"Don't say 'her' so tragically. I'm not going to take anything from her, or from anyone else. I've got a mine, and it's a nailing good mine, and I'm going to run it by my lone or bust. It isn't a thing you could sell to a company, and besides it isn't one of those mines one would care to sell. It's too good for that. It's just a fortune for two people, and one of them is presently going to sign herself Laura Carter."
"George, you're quite the best man on earth."
"I doubt it myself at times. By the way, who should I see down in Las Palmas just now but Cascaes. He did me the honor of ignoring my existence. It wasn't the unshaved Coast Cascaes either; he'd got a clean blue chin, and the rest of him was dressed fit to kill. Now, what is the mysterious Cascaes doing here?"