Then he made a distinct effort to collect his thoughts and said with a remnant of anger:
“What have you got to do with her? She knows war. Do you know anything about it? And hunger, too, and thirst, and unhappiness; things you have only heard about. She has been as near death as I am to you—and what is all that to any of you here?”
“That child!” she said in slow wonder.
Immada turned upon Mrs. Travers her eyes black as coal, sparkling and soft like a tropical night; and the glances of the two women, their dissimilar and inquiring glances met, seemed to touch, clasp, hold each other with the grip of an intimate contact. They separated.
“What are they come for? Why did you show them the way to this place?” asked Immada, faintly.
Lingard shook his head in denial.
“Poor girl,” said Mrs. Travers. “Are they all so pretty?”
“Who-all?” mumbled Lingard. “There isn't an other one like her if you were to ransack the islands all round the compass.”
“Edith!” ejaculated Mr. Travers in a remonstrating, acrimonious voice, and everyone gave him a look of vague surprise.
Then Mrs. Travers asked: