. ." He sat down heavily on the chest. "A most appropriate
costume for this farce," he continued. "But do you mean to wear it in
open daylight about the decks?"

"Indeed I do," said Mrs. Travers. "D'Alcacer has seen me already and he
didn't seem shocked."

"You should," said Mr. Travers, "try to get yourself presented with some
bangles for your ankles so that you may jingle as you walk."

"Bangles are not necessities," said Mrs. Travers in a weary tone and
with the fixed upward look of a person unwilling to relinquish her
dream. Mr. Travers dropped the subject to ask:

"And how long is this farce going to last?"

Mrs. Travers unclasped her hands, lowered her glance, and changed her
whole pose in a moment.

"What do you mean by farce? What farce?"

"The one which is being played at my expense."

"You believe that?"

"Not only believe. I feel deeply that it is so. At my expense. It's a
most sinister thing," Mr. Travers pursued, still with downcast eyes and
in an unforgiving tone. "I must tell you that when I saw you in that
courtyard in a crowd of natives and leaning on that man's arm, it gave
me quite a shock."

"Did I, too, look sinister?" said Mrs. Travers, turning her head
slightly toward her husband. "And yet I assure you that I was glad,
profoundly glad, to see you safe from danger for a time at least. To
gain time is everything. . . ."

"I ask myself," Mr. Travers meditated aloud, "was I ever in danger? Am
I safe now? I don't know. I can't tell. No! All this seems an abominable
farce."

There was that in his tone which made his wife continue to look at him
with awakened interest. It was obvious that he suffered from a distress
which was not the effect of fear; and Mrs. Travers' face expressed real
concern till he added in a freezing manner: "The question, however, is
as to your discretion."

She leaned back again in the chair and let her hands rest quietly in her
lap. "Would you have preferred me to remain outside, in the yacht, in
the near neighbourhood of these wild men who captured you? Or do you
think that they, too, were got up to carry on a farce?"

"Most decidedly." Mr. Travers raised his head, though of course not his
voice. "You ought to have remained in the yacht amongst white men, your
servants, the sailing-master, the crew whose duty it was to. . . . Who
would have been ready to die for you."

"I wonder why they should have--and why I should have asked them for
that sacrifice. Howeve