"I went to the Jalan Sultan," he pleaded. "You lived in a house in the Jalan Sultan, at Singapore. It was there I met you.... But when I went back to fetch you—you were gone!"
"Yes," she said dully. "I was gone.... They heard you promise to take me away. The captain—he said you wouldn't come back. He said you wouldn't dare—too likely to get your throat cut if you tried it. He said his people had scared you good. And you didn't come back that night."
"No." His stare was fixed and waking. "No. I didn't come back that night."
"The captain said you were scared. I didn't know. But I sat up waiting like we had planned—you and me. I was waiting and waiting. And you didn't come. Why?—?" Her flat voice slipped a note. "Why—why—why didn't you come that night? Were you scared?"
"I was drunk," he said. "God forgive me!"
Such tones a man may use when his naked soul is hauled out of him and stood up for judgment.
"It doesn't matter." She sank back again. "I wanted to get away then.... Afterward I didn't care."
The drink was taking hold of him, bracing him each instant nearer to an actual comprehension.
"Why didn't you care?" he demanded.
She pulled back the pink silk bands from her wrist and held them before him.