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"It isn't a woman; it's a man." She stopped short, and colored to the line of her forehead. "Who said it was a woman?" she continued fiercely, as if to cover her confusion with a burst of gratuitous anger. "Is that another of your lies?" Curson's lips, which for a moment had completely lost their smile, were now drawn together in a prolonged whistle.
But a change had already come over her companion. It was no longer a parley with a foolish woman; he had to deal with a man like himself. As Low's dark face and picturesque figure came nearer, Mr. Curson's proposed method of dealing with him was made audible. "Ith it a mulatto or a Thircuth, or both?" he asked, with affected anxiety. Low's Indian phlegm was impervious to such assault.
Curson's reputation was of a quality that made any form of apology from him instantly acceptable, the amused spectators made way for him as, recognizing Low, who was just leaving the hotel, he turned coolly from them and walked towards him. "Halloo!" he said, extending his hand. "You're the man I'm waiting for. Did you get a book from the exthpreth offithe latht night?" "I did. Why?"
He gazed curiously at her gown, at her hat, at the bow of bright ribbon that tied her black hair, and said, "Ah!" "A poor man who has kept my secret," she went on hurriedly "a man as friendless and lonely as myself. Yes," disregarding Curson's cynical smile, "a man who has shared everything " "Naturally," suggested Curson.
Curson's reputation was of a quality that made any form of apology from him instantly acceptable, the amused spectators made way for him as, recognizing Low, who was just leaving the hotel, he turned coolly from them and walked towards him. "Halloo!" he said, extending his hand. "You're the man I'm waiting for. Did you get a book from the exthpreth offithe latht night?" "I did. Why?"
"I don't want any money, and I shall stay here." She hesitated, looked around her, and then added, with an effort, "I suppose you meant well. Be it so! Let bygones be by-gones. You said just now, 'It's the same old Teresa. So she is, and seeing she's the same she's better here than anywhere else." There was enough bitterness in her tone to call for Curson's half-perfunctory sympathy.
He gazed curiously at her gown, at her hat, at the bow of bright ribbon that tied her black hair, and said, "Ah!" "A poor man who has kept my secret," she went on hurriedly "a man as friendless and lonely as myself. Yes," disregarding Curson's cynical smile, "a man who has shared everything" "Naturally," suggested Curson.
"I don't want any money, and I shall stay here." She hesitated, looked around her, and then added, with an effort, "I suppose you meant well. Be it so! Let by-gones be by-gones. You said just now, 'It's the same old Teresa. So she is, and seeing she's the same she's better here than anywhere else." There was enough bitterness in her tone to call for Curson's half-perfunctory sympathy.
"D d if I don't think she jutht calculated I'd be glad to know you were being hunted down and thtarving, that I might put Dunn on your track." "You lie!" said Teresa, furiously; "she was my friend. A better friend than those who professed more, she added, with a contemptuous drawing away of her skirt as if she feared Curson's contamination. "All right.
But a change had already come over her companion. It was no longer a parley with a foolish woman; he had to deal with a man like himself. As Low's dark face and picturesque figure came nearer, Mr. Curson's proposed method of dealing with him was made audible. "Ith it a mulatto or a Thircuth, or both?" he asked, with affected anxiety. Low's Indian phlegm was impervious to such assault.
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