Dan smiled. “Thank you,” he replied. “I was wondering.”
“You’re devilish frank,” Hackett laughed. “I think I like you the better for your insulting thought. However, I wouldn’t have been above it with anybody save old Gaston’s girl. One grows to hold them rather cheaply, you know. Half-caste or full blood, they come and they go. Hearts are not too readily broken down this way, Mr. Pritchard.”
“Tamea,” said Dan Pritchard, “is a white woman.”
“Nonsense, my dear sir. She’s a half-caste.”
“Her soul is white,” said Dan doggedly.
“I am not prepared to dispute that assertion,” Hackett replied casually. “I never quarrel with any man’s likes or dislikes.” He eyed Dan narrowly. “Something tells me you’re going to marry this girl, Mr. Pritchard.”
“Certainly.”
“And take her back to the United States with you?”
Dan nodded.
Hackett shrugged, as who should say: “Well, it’s none of my business what you do.”