“A little, Robert. Who, you know, after all, is he?”
“You mean Sheik Amut?”
“I certainly,” said Verbeena, “am not discussing Velasquez, Amerigo Vespucci or Jack Dempsey. The yellow hair and the black whiskers are noticeably incompatible, don’t you think?”
“To be sure,” assented Mr. Hitchings. “Well then——” and he got red in the face. “I’ll tell you. It was this way:
“In the first place he hates the English.”
“I hadn’t noticed that,” said Verbeena.
“But he does—really. And why?”
Verbeena lifted her clubbed curls well off her ears.
“Why?”
For some reason or other she saw that Mr. Hitchings looked greatly distressed.