"Orito is coming home neg's weeg," she told him one morning.
Sinclair drew his breath in sharply.
"It will mean, then, the end of our—our happy days in the woods."
Numè was feeling perverse. Why did not Mr. Sinka tell her he cared for her—did he love the beautiful American lady more than he did her?
"Oh, no—not the end, Mr. Sinka," she said; and added, cruelly, "Orito can come, too."
It was the first time she had ever seemed to trifle with him. Hitherto she had always been so gentle and lovable. He felt a pain at his heart, and his eyes were quite stern and contracted.
"Numè," he said, almost harshly, "you—you surely hold our meetings more sacred than that. You know they would lose their essence of happiness and freedom, with the intrusion of a third party."
The girl was filled with remorse, in an instant.
"Ess, Mr. Sinka," she said. "Please forgive bad Numè."