"You think," he began hesitatingly—"you think it—er—it wouldn't do?"
"You were here when the other story came out," retorted Kamis. "Can you remember what you thought then?"
"Oh, I was a fool of course," said Ford; "but, confound it, I did n't think any harm."
"Didn't you? But what did everybody think? Isn't it true that as a result of all that was said and thought Miss Harding has to risk her life by returning to England?"
"No, it wouldn't do, I suppose," said Ford. "Between us we 've made it a pretty tough business for her. We 're brutes."
The thick negro lips parted in a smile that was not humorous.
"At a little distance," said Kamis, "say, from the other side of the color line, you certainly make a poor appearance."
Mr. Samson made his entry with an air of coming to set things right or know the reason.
"Well, I 'll be hanged," he exclaimed in the doorway, making a sharp inspection of the scene.
He had got together quite a plausible equivalent for his daily personality, and had not omitted to make his mustache recognizable with pomade. A Newmarket coat concealed most of his deficiencies; his monocle made the rest of them insignificant.