"I see very little of Englishwomen," said Isaacs. "My position is
peculiar, and though the men, many of whom I know quite intimately,
often ask me to their houses, I fancy when I meet their women I can
detect a certain scorn of my nationality, a certain undefinable manner
toward me, by which I suppose they mean to convey to my obtuse
comprehension that I am but a step better than a 'native'--a 'nigger' in
fact, to use the term they love so well. So I simply avoid them, as a
rule, for my temper is hasty. Of course I understand it well enough;
they are brought up or trained by their fathers and husbands to regard
the native Indian as an inferior being, an opinion in which, on the
whole, I heartily concur. But they go a step farther and include all
Asiatics in the same category. I do not choose to be confounded with a
race I consider worn out and effete. As for the men, it is different.
They know I am rich and influential in many ways that are useful to them
now, and they hope that the fortunes of war or revolution may give them
a chance of robbing me hereafter, in which they are mistaken. Now there
is our stout friend, whom we nearly brought to grief a few minutes ago;
he is always extremely civil, and never meets me that he does not renew
his invitation to visit him."

"I should like to see something more of Mr. Currie Ghyrkins myself. I do
not believe he is half as bad as I thought. Do you ever go there?"

"Sometimes. Yes, on second thoughts I believe I call on Mr. Currie
Ghyrkins pretty often." Then after a pause he added, "I like her."

I pointed out the confusion of genders. Isaacs must have smiled to
himself in the gloom, but he answered quietly--

"I mean Miss Westonhaugh. I like her--yes, I am quite sure I do. She is