"Dusky complexion!" Trent interrupted scornfully, "they're coal
black!"

Monty nodded his head with solemn emphasis. "I will go so far as
to admit that you are right," he acknowledged. "They are as black
as sin! But, my friend Trent, I want you to consider this: If the
nature of our surroundings is offensive to you, think what it must
be to me. I may, I presume, between ourselves, allude to you as
one of the people. Refinement and luxury have never come in your
way, far less have they become indispensable to you. You were, I
believe, educated at a Board School, I was at Eton. Afterwards you
were apprenticed to a harness-maker, I - but no matter! Let us
summarise the situation."

"If that means cutting it short, for Heaven's sake do so," Trent
grumbled. "You'll talk yourself into a fever if you don't mind.
Let's know what you're driving at."

"Talking," the elder man remarked with a slight shrug of his
shoulders, "will never have a prejudicial effect upon my health.
To men of your - pardon me - scanty education the expression of
ideas in speech is doubtless a labour. To me, on the other hand,
it is at once a pleasure and a relief. What I was about to
observe is this: I belong by birth to what are called, I believe,
the classes, you to the masses. I have inherited instincts which
have been refined and cultivated, perhaps over-cultivated by
breeding and associations - you are troubled with nothing of the
sort. Therefore if these surroundings, this discomfort, not to
mention the appalling overtures of our lady friends, are distressing
to you, why, consider how much more so they must be to me!"