side his bread's buttered. When I tell him about this marriage, do you
know what he'll say? He'll say 'Thank you, sir!' That's how things are
in this island."

Betty shuddered. Her face was white with humiliation. She half-raised
her hands with an impulsive movement to hide it.

"I won't. I won't. I won't!" she gasped.

Mr. Scobell was pacing the room in an ecstasy of triumphant rhetoric.

"There's another thing," he said, swinging round suddenly and causing
his sister to drop another stitch. "Maybe you think he's some kind of a
Dago, this guy? Maybe that's what's biting you. Let me tell you that
he's an American--pretty near as much an American as you are yourself."

Betty stared at him.

"An American!"

"Don't believe it, eh? Well, let me tell you that his mother was born
and raised in Jersey, and that he has lived all his life in the States.
He's no little runt of a Dago. No, sir. He's a Harvard man, six-foot
high and weighs two hundred pounds. That's the sort of man he is. I
guess that's not American enough for you, maybe? No?"

"You do shout so, Bennie!" murmured Miss Scobell. "I'm sure there's no
need."

Betty uttered a cry. Something had told her who he was, this Harvard