So the wedding was on yet. Still, John might have smashed the owner of the Hermana.
“Have you seen him lately?” I asked.
There was something special in the way she looked. “Not to-day. Have you?”
“Never in the forenoon. He has his duties and I have mine.”
She made a little pause, and then, “What do you think of the President?”
“The President?” I was at a loss.
“But I’m afraid you would take his view—the Northern view,” she mused.
It gave me, suddenly, her meaning. “Oh, the President of the United States! How you do change the subject!”
Her eyes were upon me, burning with sectional indignation, but she seemed to be thinking too much to speak. Now, here was a topic that I had avoided, and she had plumped it at me. Very well; she should have my view.
“If you mean that a gentleman cannot invite any respectable member of any race he pleases to dine privately in his house—”