“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. . . .”