"I don't believe in such marriages," he said. "I would despise a woman who loved one man and married another." Numè smiled sadly.
"Ah, Mr. Sinka, that's vaery mos' sad thad you despising poor liddle womans. Will you despise also grade big mans who do same thing?"
Then Sinclair comprehended. His face was quite haggard.
"Oh, Numè, Numè-san," he almost groaned, "what can I do?" The girl was silent, waiting for his confidence.
"You understand, Numè, don't you—understand that I love you?"
The girl quivered with his passion, for a moment, then she stood still in the path, a quiet, questioning, almost accusing, little figure.
"But soon you will marry with the red-haired lady," she said.
"No! I cannot!" he burst out, passionately. "I won't give you up! Numè, I—I will try to free myself. It must not be, now. It would be wronging all of us. Sweetheart, I never cared for her. I never loved any one in the world but you, and I think I loved you even that first night. I will tell her all about it, Numè. She is a good woman, and will give me my freedom. Then she will go back to America, and we will be married and be together here—in this garden of Eden." He was holding her little hands in his now, and looking into her face hungrily.
"Think of it, Numè," he repeated; "only you and I together—always together—no more parting at the turn of the road—no more long, long nights alone. Oh! Numè! Numè!"
"But Orito?" she said, with pitiful pain. "Ah! my father would surely kill me. You dunno my people."