"My dear Marchesa," said Caroline, "you must not so berate the little yellow brother in the house of his friends."
"Different races are never friends," replied the Marchesa. "I know because I am a woman, and have lived among them. The Latin does not like the Teuton, nor either of them the Saxon, and yet, all these are of the Caucasian race. Add to this the inherent physical repugnance which exists between the colored races and the white, and this natural dislike becomes a racial hatred. It is no mere question of inclination; it is an organic antipathy running in the blood. Ministers who draw treaties may not know this, but every woman knows it."
"Then," said Caroline, "there can be no danger to us in England's treaty with Japan."
"And why is there no danger?" said the Marchesa.
"Dear me," said the girl, "if I could only remember how Socrates managed arguments." She took a pose of mock gravity. "I think he would begin like this:
"You hold, Marchesa, that the hatred of one race for another increases with the difference between them?"
"I do," replied the Marchesa.
"Then, Marchesa, you ought also to hold that the love between nations increases as that difference disappears."
"I do hold that, too, Socrates," said the Marchesa.
"Also, Marchesa, it is your opinion that of all races the oriental is least like us?"