Pompey's voice was low and sweet. Evadne felt her heart glow.
"But come now, Pomp," persisted Louis, "that's all nonsense. You must have some reason for not smoking. Everybody does. Come, I insist on your telling me."
Pompey was silent for a moment. "'The pure in heart shall see God,'" he said slowly. "I 'low, Mass Louis, de King's chillen's got ter be pure in body too."'
"You insolent scoundrel! How dare you?" and Louis dashed the glowing end of his cigar in the negro's face.
For a moment Pompey stood absolutely still,—the cigar which had left its mark upon his cheek lying smouldering at his feet,—then he turned quietly and walked away.
Louis strode out of the coach-house. Evadne followed him, her eyes blazing. "You are a coward!" she cried passionately. "You would not have dared to do that to a man who could hit you back. You forced him to tell you and then struck him for doing it! If this is your culture and refinement, I despise it! I am going to be a Christian, like Pompey. That is grand!"
"Well done, coz!" and Louis affected a laugh. "There's not much of the 'meek and lowly' in evidence just now at any rate."
He looked after her as she walked away, her indignant tones still lingered in his ears. "By Jove! there's something to her though she is so quiet! I must cultivate the child."
Seen through Evadne's clear eyes his action looked despicable and his better nature suggested an apology, but he swept the suggestion aside with a muttered "Pshaw! he's only a nigger," and turned carelessly on his heel.
"You are Dyce!" cried Evadne impulsively when she reached the cottage in whose open doorway a pleasant-faced colored woman was standing. "Pompey has told me about you. I think your husband is one of the grandest men I know."