"Langton," he said, speaking thickly and pretending not to notice the remainder of the eggs, "the tide is out, and we may get a turtle in one of the pools if you come with me. Mrs Langton needs something better than that infernal pandanus fruit. Her lips are quite sore and bleeding from eating it."
The Inner Nature came out. "Are they? My wife's lips seem to give you a very great deal of concern. She has not said anything to me. And I have an idea——" the look in Enderby's face shamed into silence the slander he was about to utter. Then he added coolly—"But as for going with you after a turtle, thanks, I won't. I've found a nest here, and have had a good square feed. If the cursed man-o'-war hawks and boobies hadn't been here before me I'd have got the whole lot." Then he tore the skin off another egg with his teeth.
With a curious guttural voice Enderby asked—"How many eggs were left?"
"Thirty or so—perhaps forty."
"And you have eaten all but those?"—pointing with savage contempt to five of the round, white balls; "give me those for your wife."
"My dear man, Louise has too much Island blood in her not to be able to do better than I—or you—in a case like ours. And as you have kindly constituted yourself her providore, you had better go and look for a nest yourself."
"You dog!"—and the sharp-edged coral stone crashed into his brain.
When Enderby returned, he found Mrs Langton sitting up on the creeper-covered mound that over-looked the beach where he had left Langton.
"Come away from here," he said, "into the shade. I have found a few turtle-eggs."