"Well, the less you have to do with 'sich' the better," he said in a brotherly way. "He's a hot lot. The very devil. No sort of a pal for a girl like you."
"I thought he was French," Pansy said in a strained voice.
"He poses as such, but he isn't. He's a nigger cross, French-Arab. And what's more he's a Mohammedan."
"You're a trifle sweeping, Dennis," Sir George interposed. "If you'd dealt with coloured people as much as I have, you'd know there was a great difference between a nigger and an Arab. An Arab in his own way is a gentleman. And his religion has a great resemblance to our own. He is not a naked devil-worshipper like the negro."
Pansy welcomed her father's intervention. At that moment her world was crashing into even greater ruins around her.
Raoul Le Breton a half-caste! The man she loved "a nigger"!
Pansy did not hide from herself the fact that she still loved Le Breton, but this last piece of news about him put him quite beyond the pale.
Also it put a new light on the affair of Lucille Lemesurier.
He was of a different race, a different religion, a different colour, with a wholly different outlook.
After the first gust of temper was over, Pansy had wanted to find some excuse for Le Breton over the affair of the French actress.