“You will not go away—far?” Tamea pleaded.
“This is my house, Tamea, and it is your home for the present at least. You are very welcome. Whenever your dear father came to San Francisco it was his pleasure to visit me here, to dine with me and sit up half the night talking with me. He always felt that this was his San Francisco home, and you must feel likewise.”
“Very well,” Tamea replied and entered the room. A wood fire was crackling in the large fireplace, and Tamea sat down on her heels before this fire and held her hands out to the cheerful flames.
“This is a cold country,” she complained. “Cold winds and cold hearts.”
Dan rejoined Mrs. Pippy and drew her into the dining room, where, in brief sentences, he explained Tamea and his hopes and desires concerning her. Mrs. Pippy gave a respectful ear to his recital; that was all.
“I have a feeling, Mr. Pritchard, that you are going to have your hands full with that young woman,” she declared. “I have always heard that half-castes of any kind partake of the worst characteristics of both parents. Eurasians are—well, scarcely desirable.”
“Tamea is not a Eurasian. She is a pure-bred Caucasian, but in many respects she is a child of nature. It is evident that her father saw to it that she received all the educational advantages possible in her little world, but I must impress upon you, Mrs. Pippy, that when dealing with her you are not dealing with a modern girl. Her outlook on life, her thoughts, impulses—and, I dare say, her moral viewpoint—antedate the Christian era.”
“Is she a—Christian, Mr. Pritchard?”
“I think not. Her father was not. Neither was he an atheist. He was a pagan. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Tamea’s religious beliefs, if she has any, are idolatrous.”
“Horrible!”