into the begonias and laburnums of the little garden. The priest was sorrowful, but the man was furious. With some effort he heard the other through, and then he ripped out an ugly oath.
The visitor was astonished. Old John had always been a bit particular, of course—had to, don't you know, and all that—but a man of the world and a thorough good sort. And this was not the first confession his schoolfellow had made to him.
"I say, easy all," Gregory protested. "I wish it hadn't happened"—you nearly always do—"but you needn't play Peter Prigg. It isn't one of your flock. The girl's a nice little girl. I'm fond of her, I tell you. But she isn't one of your reserved flock. She's Chinese"
"Oh, hell and damnation!" interrupted Bradley, striking the well-built railing with a fist so angry that the interlaced bamboos quivered and shook, "that's the infamy of it. If you had to be a beast, don't you see how much less loathsome you'd have been if you had seduced some girl of your own race?"
The other was too dumbfounded to reply, and the priest pounded on: "O curse of Europe! That such men as you pour into Asia and do this damnable thing! You'll boil in oil for this. You insufferable ass! Don't you realize in the least who and what her father is? You might better have affronted Tze-Shi herself. Boil in oil, I tell you, and, by God, so you ought! If it were not for your mother, I'd help Wu to heat it. How would you like some Chinese man to do to your sister what you have done to this girl? Oh! you needn't spring up like that. You'll not put a finger to me. I could pitch you over there, down to the road a thousand feet below, and for half a string of counterfeit cash I'd do it too.
