"Gassharamminy!" he shouted, thumping with a scarred fist. With a
poultice on his eye he looked like a swashbuckler home from the wars;
and as he had not troubled to shave himself, the effect was heightened.
"What sort of company sits when a titled lady enters!" He seized a
big spoon and rapped on the board with it. "Blood of an onion! Rise,
every one!"

Everybody rose, although there were men in the room in no mind to be
told their duty by a Greek. Lady Saffren Waldon walked to a place near
the head of the table with a chilling bow. As usual when night and the
yellow lamplight modified merciless outlines, she looked lovely enough.
But she lacked the royal gift of seeming at home with the vulgar herd.
She could make men notice her--serve her, up to a certain point--and
feel that she was the center of interest wherever she might choose to
be; but because she was everlastingly on guard, she lacked the power
to put mixed company at ease.

Only the ex-missionary at the head of the table seemed to consider
himself socially qualified to entertain her. She was at no pains to
conceal contempt for him.

"You honor my poor hotel!" he assured her.

"It is certainly a very poor hotel," she answered.

"Do you expect to remain long, may I ask?"

"What right have you to ask me questions? Tell that native to go away
from behind my chair. My own maid will wait on me!"

Whether purposely or not, she cast such a chill upon the company that
even Georges Coutlass subsided within himself, and, though he ate like
a ravening animal, did not talk. Almost the only conversation was
between the owner and the native servants, who waited at table
abominably and were noisily reprimanded, and argued back. Each
reprimand increased their inefficiency and insolence. Natives detest a
fussy, noisy white man.

Bad food, indifferent cooking, and no conversation worthy of the name
produced gloom that drove every one from table as soon as possible.
Even the proprietor, with unsatiable curiosity exuding from him, but no
spirit for forcing issues, departed to a sanctum of his own up
somewhere under the roof. The boys cleared the tables. The smell of
food spread itself and settled slowly. A half-breed butler served
countless orders of drinks on trays, and sent them upstairs to
bedrooms. Presently we three sat alone in the long bare room.

"Shall we wait for her?" I asked. "Haven't we had enough of her?"

Fred laughed. "She can scarc