‘You take an interest in the girl?’ he said, in a tone in which surprise struggled with civility. Again came Denny’s half-smothered laugh.
‘An interest in her?’ said I irritably. ‘Well, I suppose I do. It looked like it when I took her through that infernal passage, didn’t it?’
The captain smiled apologetically and pursued his way towards the door. ‘I will try to obtain lenient treatment for her,’ said he, and passed out. I was left alone with Denny, who chose at this moment to begin to whistle. I glared most ill-humouredly at him. He stopped whistling and remarked:
‘By this time to-morrow our friends at home will be taking off their mourning. They’ll read in the papers that Lord Wheatley is not dead of fever at Neopalia, and they won’t read that he has fallen a victim to the misguided patriotism of the islanders; in fact they’ll be preparing to kill the fatted calf for him.’
It was all perfectly true, both what Denny said and what he implied without saying. But I found no answer to make to it.
‘What a happy ending it is,’ said Denny.
‘Uncommonly,’ I growled, lighting a cigar.
After this there was a long silence: I smoked, Denny whistled. I saw that he was determined to say nothing more explicit unless I gave him a lead, but his whole manner exuded moral disapproval. The consciousness of his feelings kept me obstinately dumb.
‘Going to stay here long?’ he asked at last, in a wonderfully careless tone.