“Ah,” said Peter, “no, of course we shouldn’t, but we are white men, and so are the Armenians—almost—” Then he glanced at the stranger’s dark face, and added quickly, “At least, it’s not the colour that matters, you know. I rather like a dark face, my mother’s eyes are brown—but the Armenians, you know, they’ve got long hair like us.”
“Oh, it is the hair, then, that matters,” said the stranger softly.
“Oh, well,” said Peter, “it’s not altogether, of course. But it’s quite a different thing, the Armenians wanting to get rid of the Turks, and these bloody niggers wanting to get rid of the Chartered Company. Besides, the Armenians are Christians, like us!”
“Are YOU Christians?” A strange storm broke across the stranger’s features; he rose to his feet.
“Why, of course, we are!” said Peter. “We’re all Christians, we English. Perhaps you don’t like Christians, though? Some Jews don’t, I know,” said Peter, looking up soothingly at him.
“I neither love nor hate any man for that which he is called,” said the stranger; “the name boots nothing.”
The stranger sat down again beside the fire, and folded his hands.
“Is the Chartered Company Christian also?” he asked.
“Yes, oh yes,” said Peter.
“What is a Christian?” asked the stranger.