“Exactly.”
“Now I understand your attitude toward the Negro. You’d have them slaves.”
“Slaves, servants or laborers—in their definite place—it doesn’t matter. And a cultured, leisure class instead of the efficient business man. But that isn’t what we’re here for—to discuss sociology. I want to know more about you. This may be our last time together.”
He leaned across the table, conscious that his hands were moving toward hers across the cloth. But he stopped them.
“You know I’m going to rejoin my regiment Monday. Another month in barracks and then I’ll be sailing back.”
They rose, Hamilton helped her into her cloak, paid his pour boire to the waiter and picked up his check.
“They’re not so inefficient,” he said, glancing at the figures.
“Who? The French?”
“Yes, they put a half dozen hors d’œuvres on the table that aren’t on the menu and charge you for the whole plate if you take just a single radish or olive or whatever it is. Well, c’est la guerre. Poor devils, they need it.”