They went in, Curtis following.
In a room with a sanded floor that looked pleasantly homely to her English eyes a meal was spread. The place and everything it contained shone in the lamplight. She looked around her with a smile of pleasure, notwithstanding her weariness. And then her eyes fell upon Curtis, and found his fixed upon her.
He averted them instantly, but she had read their expression at a glance—surprise and compassion—and her heart gave a curious little throb of dismay.
She turned nevertheless without a pause to Mercer.
"Won't you introduce me to your friend?" she said.
"What?" said Mercer. "Oh, that's Curtis, my foreman. Curtis, this is my wife."
Curtis bowed stiffly, but Sybil held out her hand.
"How nice everything looks!" she said. "I am sure we have you to thank for it."
"Beelzebub and me," he said; and again she was struck by the utter lack of animation in his voice.
He was a man of about forty, lean and brown, with an unmistakable air of breeding about him that put her at her ease at once. His quiet manner was a supreme contrast to Mercer's roughness. She was quite sure that he was not colonial born.