"And the heathen," said Hugh maliciously, but not looking up from his plate.
"Ahem!" coughed loyal Mr. Veath.
"Are there any heathen over there?" asked Miss Vernon very innocently but also very maliciously. She smiled at Hugh, who leaned far back in his chair and winked solemnly at the bewildered Veath. That gentleman, manlike, interpreted Hugh's wink as the means of conveying the information that the tactful young lady asked the question merely to throw him off the scent. So he answered very politely but very carefully.
"I hear there are more missionaries than heathen."
"Indeed? Don't you think that the women who go out as missionaries among those vile creatures are perfect idiots, Mr. Veath?"
"Well,--ahem, ah," stammered Veath, "I can't say that I do. I think, if you will permit me to disagree with you, that they are the noblest women in the world."
"Excellent sentiment, Veath," said the merry Ridgeway, "and quite worthy of endorsement by this misguided sister of mine. She despises the heathen, you know."
"Oh, I am sure she does not despise them," cried Veath.
"But I do--I think they ought to be burned alive!"
A dead silence, during which the two men were unnecessarily intent upon the contents of their plates, followed this explosion. Miss Vernon demurely smiled to herself, and finally kicked Hugh's foot. He laughed aloud suddenly and insanely and then choked. Veath grew very red in the face, perhaps through restraint. The conversation from that moment was strained until the close of the meal, and they did not meet at all during dinner.