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Wylie, I. A. R. (Ida Alexa Ross), 1885-1959

"The Native Born or, the Rajah's People"


Believe me, Stafford, the idea is ridiculous, and I have not the least
intention of throwing up my own hard-won security--"
It was a bad slip, and he knew it. Stafford, who had stood with his
face half averted, in an attitude of irresolution, swung round.
"Your security?" he echoed.
Travers shrugged his shoulders. He had made a mistake, but he saw no
reason to be afraid of Stafford or of any one in Marut.
"I said 'my security,'" he repeated.
Stafford clenched his fists. The expression on his gaunt, rugged face
showed that he had understood the full import of Travers' words.
"You blackguard!" he said under his breath.
Travers turned scarlet.
"Mind yourself, Captain Stafford. You may find yourself outside the
door quicker than you care for it!"
"You blackguard!" Stafford repeated furiously. "I haven't a better
name for you. You have simply humbugged me with your lies about Lois
and your devotion to her--"
Travers strode at him.
"How dare you!"
"Don't bluster, Travers! It can't hide what I see. You married Lois
for her money--"
"Hold your infernal tongue!"
"And now you are afraid. Well, you shall have some cause." He picked
up his helmet, which lay on the table. "I gave you my promise because
you assured me it was for Lois' happiness, and I believed you.
According to my ideas, both of them were better left in ignorance. I
did not know that you had your own motives--silly fool that I am!" He
turned to hurry from the room.


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