“You mean here to your dance-hall? Why, Hough brought me. I met him. We played cards and—”
“No. I mean what brought you to Benton?”
“I just drifted here.... I’m looking for a—a lost friend,” said Neale.
“No work? But you’re no spiker or capper or boss. I know that sort. And I can spot a gambler a mile. The whole world meets out here in Benton. But not many young men like you wander into my place.”
“Like me? How so?”
“The men here are wolves on the scent for flesh; like bandits on the trail of gold.... But you—you’re like my friend Ancliffe.”
“Who is he?” asked Neale, politely.
“WHO is he? God only knows. But he’s an Englishman and a gentleman. It’s a pity men like Ancliffe and you drift out here.”
She spoke seriously. She had the accent and manner of breeding.
“Why, Miss Stanton?” inquired Neale. He was finding another woman here and it was interesting to him.