did Holt, senior, invariably regulate his business during the last six days of the week by the sentiments to which he gave open profession on the first.
"I mean," continued Harold, "that, being a heathen, he will have no ideas of right and wrong. A friend who has been in Australia tells me that they are the most treacherous, bloodthirsty, and revengeful creatures in existence—more like animals, in fact. I hope that you understand me, sir, when I say that you are really taking very grave risks."
"They eat birds' nests, don't they?" remarked the younger Andrew with a well-meaning effort to include himself in the conversation.
"They eat anything that is filthy," said Harold, with elegant disdain. "Rats and mice and cattle that have died of disease."
So far this frank exposition of his national qualities had been carried on within Yen Sung's hearing, despite the fact that he could probably understand at least the essentials of every sentence, although nothing animate could have more successfully preserved an expression of absolute vacuity. But now Harold stepped nearer to the Garstangs, and in spite of the contemptuous intensity of his tone nothing could be heard of his words beyond an occasional disconnected phrase. ". . . really too hortible to . . . dozens of cases . . . and then murdered . . . rather commit suicide . . . for Miss Edith's sake . . . You cannot warn . . ."
"What is that about 'Miss Edith'?"
The three men turned quickly at the voice. A very fair young girl, not rustic, but wearing the grace and freedom that spring from the English soil, had approached unseen by the field path and stood smiling by the gate.
"The proverb has no terrors for you, Miss Edith,"
