ies can be made. She looked over her
shoulder to say:

"It's on the surface, I assure you. Altogether on the surface."

She turned again to the looking-glass where her own face met her with
dark eyes and a fair mist of hair above the smooth forehead; but her
words had produced no soothing effect.

"But what does it mean?" cried Mr. Travers. "Why doesn't the fellow
apologize? Why are we kept here? Are we being kept here? Why don't we
get away? Why doesn't he take me back on board my yacht? What does he
want from me? How did he procure our release from these people on shore
who he says intended to cut our throats? Why did they give us up to him
instead?"

Mrs. Travers began to twist her hair on her head.

"Matters of high policy and of local politics. Conflict of personal
interests, mistrust between the parties, intrigues of individuals--you
ought to know how that sort of thing works. His diplomacy made use of
all that. The first thing to do was not to liberate you but to get you
into his keeping. He is a very great man here and let me tell you that
your safety depends on his dexterity in the use of his prestige rather
than on his power which he cannot use. If you would let him talk to
you I am sure he would tell you as much as it is possible for him to
disclose."

"I don't want to be told about any of his rascalities. But haven't you
been taken into his confidence?"

"Completely," admitted Mrs. Travers, peering into the small
looking-glass.

"What is the influence you brought to bear upon this man? It looks to me
as if our fate were in your hands."

"Your fate is not in my hands. It is not even in his hands. There is a
moral situation here which must be solved."

"Ethics of blackmail," commented Mr. Travers with unexpected sarcasm. It
flashed through his wife's mind that perhaps she didn't know him so well
as she had supposed. It was as if the polished and solemn crust of hard
proprieties had cracked slightly, here and there, under the strain,
disclosing the mere wrongheadedness of a common mortal. But it was
only manner that had cracked a little; the marvellous stupidity of
his conceit remained the same. She thought that this discussion was
perfectly useless, and as she finished putting up her hair she said: "I
think we had better go on deck now."

"You propose to go out on deck like this?" muttered Mr. Travers with
downcast eyes.

"Like this? Certainly. It's no longer a novelty. Who is going to be
shoc