For the first time he found himself able to regard her critically; and he was somehow rather disturbed to find before him a girl who was undeniably beautiful. When he had rushed blindly in to the rescue, he had taken it for granted that the person he saw so vaguely through that red mist was an English or an American missionary woman in distress, and (to himself) excused his mad lust for battle by picturing himself as the champion of the Christian martyr beset by pagans. The white missionary women of that strip of the Coast occasionally quartered themselves at Malla-Nulla factory on their journeyings, in spite of the very niggardly civility of Mr. Smith, and Carter had been much impressed in the way beneficent Nature had safeguarded them by homely features and unattractive mien from attack by the other sex. He could have taken off his hat to one of these, and said: "Most happy to have been of service to you, madam. Won't you come into the factory and have a cup of tea?" But this slim beauty in the frilled white muslins sent speech further and further away from him the more that he looked at her. For the first time since landing in Africa six months before he was ashamed of mildew-stained pyjamas for afternoon wear, and disgusted with the yellow smears of palm oil which bedaubed them. He was hatefully aware too that he had let his razors rust in the moist Coast climate, and White-Man's-Trouble's fortnightly efforts with the clippers had merely left his chin and head covered with an obscene red bristle. "... It would be ridiculous," the girl was murmuring, "merely to say 'thank you' for what you did, Mr. Carter. You see I know your name. News about new-comers soon spreads amongst the other factories on the Coast here. If you only knew how I dread that fearful King, you would understand my gratitude. You see this isn't the first time he's tried to carry me off." "I wish you'd mentioned it earlier," Carter blurted out, "and I'd have split his dirty skull, trade or no trade." She shook her head. "No, that wouldn't have done. There's the law to be thought of even here. Besides, he's a King, and could let loose, so they say, twenty thousand fighting men against the Coast factories, and wipe them out. If only I could get away to some place he couldn't reach!" She shivered. "If I stay on here at my father's factory, I'm bound to be caught and taken to Okky City." Carter's brown eyes opened in sheer surprise. "You speak of your father's factory. Do you mean to say that you live here on the Coast?" "At the Smooth River factory." "What, Slade's place?" "Yes, I'm Laura Slade. Couldn't you guess?" "How could I?" Carter blurted out. "Mr. Smith told me that Slade's girl--" And there he stopped, and could have bitten off his tongue for having said so much. She finished his sentence quietly, and, as it appeared, without resentment. "Mr. Smith, I suppose, described me as a nigger."