The two men faced each other on opposite sides of the
table. John Turnham had the same dark eyes and hair, the same short,
straight nose as his brother and sister, but not their exotic pallor.
His skin was bronzed; and his large, scarlet mouth supplied a vivid dash
of colour. He wore bushy side-whiskers.
"And now, Mr. Mahony, I will ask you a blunt question. I receive letters
regularly from my sister, but I cannot recall her ever having mentioned
your name. Who and what are you?"
"Who am I?" flared up Mahony. "A gentleman like yourself, sir!--though
a poor one. As for Miss Turnham not mentioning me in her letters, that
is easily explained. I only had the pleasure of making her acquaintance
five or six weeks ago."
"You are candid," said Polly's brother, and smiled without unclosing his
lips. "But your reply to my question tells me nothing. May I ask
what . . . er . . . under what . . . er . . . circumstances you came out
to the colony, in the first instance?"
"No, sir, you may not!" cried Mahony, and flung up from his seat; he
scented a deadly insult in the question.
"Come, come, Mr. Mahony," said Turnham in a more conciliatory tone.
"Nothing is gained by being techy. And my inquiry is not unreasonable.
You are an entire stranger to me; my sister has known you but for a few
weeks, and is a young and inexperienced girl into the bargain. You tell
me you are a gentleman. Sir! I had as lief you said you were a
blacksmith.
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