"And the pity of it is, she doesn't understand how very rich she is. Her father owns all these canneries and many more besides, and lots of railroads—but you don't know what a railroad is, do you?"
"Mebbe him rich as Mr. Marsh, eh?"
"A thousand time richer. Mr. Marsh works for him the way you work for me."
Being too much a gentleman to dispute his mistress' word, Constantine merely shook his head and smiled broadly.
"She fine lady," he acknowledged. "She got plenty nice dress—silik."
"Yes, silk."
"She more han'somer than you be," he added, with reluctant candor.
"Mebbe that's lie 'bout Mr. Marsh, eh? White men all work for Mr.
Marsh. He no work for nobody."
"No, it is true. Mr. Marsh knows how rich she is, and that is why he wants to marry her."
The breed wheeled swiftly, his soft soles crunching the gravel.
"Mr. Marsh want marry her?" he repeated, as if doubting his ears.