“Let's hear you say it.”
She never moved the least bit. The sombre lagoon sparkled faintly with the reflection of the stars.
“Oh, yes, I will let you hear it,” she said into the starlit space in a voice of unaccented gentleness which changed subtly as she went on. “I hope you will never regret that you came out of your friendless mystery to speak to me, King Tom. How many days ago it was! And here is another day gone. Tell me how many more of them there must be? Of these blinding days and nights without a sound.”
“Be patient,” he murmured. “Don't ask me for the impossible.”
“How do you or I know what is possible?” she whispered with a strange scorn. “You wouldn't dare guess. But I tell you that every day that passes is more impossible to me than the day before.”
The passion of that whisper went like a stab into his breast. “What am I to tell you?” he murmured, as if with despair. “Remember that every sunset makes it a day less. Do you think I want you here?”
A bitter little laugh floated out into the starlight. Mrs. Travers heard Lingard move suddenly away from her side. She didn't change her pose by a hair's breadth. Presently she heard d'Alcacer coming out of the Cage. His cultivated voice asked half playfully:
“Have you had a satisfactory conversation? May I be told something of it?”
“Mr. d'Alcacer, you are curious.”
“Well, in our position, I confess. . . . You are our only refuge, remember.”