That lady's large, flaccid countenance had assumed a peculiar, olive-green tint which the glaring electric lights in her cabin accentuated to an unpleasant ghastliness. She was very short in her communications with Jane in the brief interviews which took place each day after luncheon.
"You spik to anyone since I see you—n'est-ce-pas?" she would demand, staring eagerly at Jane from the midst of her pillows. "Non? Tres bien! say nossing to womans asking questions; to mens, nossing. I ha-a-te zem all."
"But no one has spoken to me, except to say 'good morning' at the table," Jane made haste to assure her.
"Alright—tres bien," muttered Mrs. Markle. "Go now—vite! and to-morrow—no, next day, we come in port. Zen I tell you one leetle sing you do for me."
"I have done nothing for you yet," replied Jane, in genuine distress. "Would you not like me to read aloud to you for a while, or bathe your head with cologne? I should be so glad to do something to make you comfortable."
But Mrs. Markle waved her aside with a fretful motion of her dingy, jeweled hands. "Go; make ze voyage as you like. I want nossing—nossing till we come in port. Zen I say what you mus' do. A mos' leetle sing, I tell you."
On the last day when the women passengers were beginning to look less like rows of Egyptian mummies put out for an airing, and a buzz of cheerful conversation pervaded the decks and cabins, Jane was astonished to find Mrs. Markle sitting in her stateroom, fully dressed and elaborately frizzled and coiffured, as on the day she had first seen her.
"Oh, are you better? I am so glad!" exclaimed Jane. "Won't you come up on deck for a while, and see all the people?"
"Non!" snorted Mrs. Markle. "I will not. I am not able to walk yet. I am—what you call it—we-e-k from ze illness. Now leesten to moi, I gif you your hat an' coat. Put zem on, an' leave ze fur wiz me. Zen stay in cabin till ze customs officer comes aboard. You have no articles dutiable—non?"
Jane stared at her in mute amazement. "I don't—know," she stammered.