"It isn't a question of bravery," he replied, a bit of color charging under his skin.
Elsa was amused. "And, pray, what question is it?" He was like a boy.
"I'm afraid of making myself obscure. This world is not like your world. Women over here… Oh, I've lost the art of saying things clearly." He pulled at his beard embarrassedly.
"I rather believe I understand you. The veneer cracks easily in hot climates; man's veneer."
"And falls off altogether."
"Are you warning me against yourself?"
"Why not? Twenty thousand pounds do not change a man; they merely change the public's opinion of him. For all you know, I may be the greatest rascal unhanged."
"But you are not."
He recognized that it was not a query; and a pleasurable thrill ran over him. Had there been the least touch of condescension in her manner, he would have gone deep into his shell.
"No; there are worse men in this world than I. But we are getting away from the point, of women traveling alone in the East. Oh, I know you can protect yourself to a certain extent. But everywhere, on boats, in the hotels, on the streets, are men who have discarded all the laws of convention, of the social contract. And they have the keen eye of the kite and the vulture."