“It's the name of that lanky old store-keeper who is always about the decks.”
“I haven't seen him. I don't see anybody. I don't know anybody. I prefer not to notice.”
“I was only going to say that he gave me a pack of cards; would you like a game of piquet?”
“I don't think I could keep my eyes open,” said Mr. Travers in an unexpectedly confidential tone. “Isn't it funny, d'Alcacer? And then I wake up. It's too awful.”
D'Alcacer made no remark and Mr. Travers seemed not to have expected any.
“When I said my wife was mad,” he began, suddenly, causing d'Alcacer to start, “I didn't mean it literally, of course.” His tone sounded slightly dogmatic and he didn't seem to be aware of any interval during which he had appeared to sleep. D'Alcacer was convinced more than ever that he had been shamming, and resigned himself wearily to listen, folding his arms across his chest. “What I meant, really,” continued Mr. Travers, “was that she is the victim of a craze. Society is subject to crazes, as you know very well. They are not reprehensible in themselves, but the worst of my wife is that her crazes are never like those of the people with whom she naturally associates. They generally run counter to them. This peculiarity has given me some anxiety, you understand, in the position we occupy. People will begin to say that she is eccentric. Do you see her anywhere, d'Alcacer?”
D'Alcacer was thankful to be able to say that he didn't see Mrs. Travers. He didn't even hear any murmurs, though he had no doubt that everybody on board the Emma was wide awake by now. But Mr. Travers inspired him with invincible mistrust and he thought it prudent to add:
“You forget that your wife has a room in the deckhouse.”
This was as far as he would go, for he knew very well that she was not in the deckhouse. Mr. Travers, completely convinced by the statement, made no sound. But neither did he lie down again. D'Alcacer gave himself up to meditation. The night seemed extremely oppressive. At Lingard's shout for Jorgenson, that in the profound silence struck his ears ominously, he raised his eyes and saw Mrs. Travers outside the door of the Cage. He started forward but she was already within. He saw she was moved. She seemed out of breath and as if unable to speak at first.
“Hadn't we better shut the door?” suggested d'Alcacer.