“Something you don’t like to put into words?”
Ruth nodded.
“I think I know. I’ve thought of it myself and I don’t like to put it into words either, but I will, so that we can understand each other perfectly—a necessary thing if we are to help Gloria.” He paused looking at her, and seemingly trying to gather courage for what he was about to say.
“You think that George is in love with his mistress.”
Ruth’s horrified face revealed that Terry had put into words something quite foreign to anything in her thoughts.
“Don’t look so horrified, it sounds terrible to us—it is terrible, but you must remember that George is a Hindoo, not a nigger, and that he is well educated, and that in many parts of the world, the idea of a black man loving a white woman is not so repugnant as it is here. I wouldn’t admit it for a long time myself, but it’s the only plausible explanation of a lot of things. Perhaps Gloria has told you that when she first met George he was a magician mahatma, who had been playing in London music halls and that he had been out of work for some time on account of illness. Out of gratitude, apparently, he offered to serve her. Later when he had quite recovered his health he could easily have gone back to his former work, but he didn’t go, though regardless of what Gloria pays him, it must be much less than he could make on the stage. If you’ve observed too, you will have seen that his attitude, while quite respectful, is never the attitude of a servant, and toward Gloria’s men friends his attitude is almost offensively disrespectful, especially when she is not present. He even hates me. I’ve thought for a long time that she ought to get rid of him, but I can’t go to her and tell her what I think, for certainly Gloria doesn’t suspect anything like that.”
During this explanation, Ruth, recovered from the first shock of his words, was thinking rapidly. All her fears and superstitions came back one hundred fold in the light of Terry’s revelation. They gave reason and purpose to what she had seen and what she had suspected. She debated in her mind whether she dare tell everything to Terry.
“But evidently you had something else in mind—some other reason,” he continued. “What was it?”
She looked at his grey blue eyes and brown hair, his clear, fair skin and firm chin—he was Western of the West—he would never understand or believe.
“Nothing,” she answered. “I suppose it’s just that I sensed what you have said, without ever daring to put it into words even in my own thoughts. Couldn’t you try and tempt George back on to the stage?”