"I have a reason for asking," Everett added.
"Yes, I suppose so. The fact is, I'm rather interested in them myself. I thought—"
Horace lifted his eyes, and the man opposite noted that they had grown darker, that they sparkled angrily. Everett was desirous of satisfying himself whether Horace did, or did not, care for the young girl he was sheltering.
"They don't need your interest so far as a home is concerned," Horace said at last.
Everett's face darkened as he mused:
"They're lowly born, and such people were made for our servants, and not our equals. If the women are pretty, they might act as playthings."
Horace turned his eyes toward the speaker wrathfully. He wondered if he had understood correctly what was implied by the other's words.
"What did you say, Brimbecomb?"
Everett drew his left leg over his right knee deliberately.