ssel. The grey shirt, the blue sash, one rolled-up
sleeve baring a sculptural forearm, the negligent masterfulness of his
tone and pose were very distasteful to Mr. Travers, who, having made
up his mind to wait for some kind of official assistance, regarded
the intrusion of that inexplicable man with suspicion. From the moment
Lingard came on board the yacht, every eye in that vessel had been fixed
upon him. Only Carter, within earshot and leaning with his elbow upon
the rail, stared down at the deck as if overcome with drowsiness or lost
in thought.
Of the three other persons aft, Mr. Travers kept his hands in the side
pockets of his jacket and did not conceal his growing disgust.
On the other side of the deck, a lady, in a long chair, had a passive
attitude that to Mr. d'Alcacer, standing near her, seemed characteristic
of the manner in which she accepted the necessities of existence. Years
before, as an attache of his Embassy in London, he had found her an
interesting hostess. She was even more interesting now, since a chance
meeting and Mr. Travers' offer of a passage to Batavia had given him an
opportunity of studying the various shades of scorn which he suspected
to be the secret of her acquiescence in the shallowness of events and
the monotony of a worldly existence.
There were things that from the first he had not been able to
understand; for instance, why she should have married Mr. Travers. It
must have been from ambition. He could not help feeling that such a
successful mistake would explain completely her scorn and also her
acquiescence. The meeting in Manila had been utterly unexpected to
him, and he accounted for it to his uncle, the Governor-General of the
colony, by pointing out that Englishmen, when worsted in the struggle
of love or politics, travel extensively, as if by encompassing a large
portion of earth's surface they hoped to gather fresh strength for a
renewed contest. As to himself, he judged--but did not say--that his
contest with fate was ended, though he also travelled, leaving behind
him in the capitals of Europe a story in which there was nothing
scandalous but the publicity of an excessive feeling, and nothing more
tragic than the early death of a woman whose brilliant perfections were
no better known to the great world than the discreet and passionate
devotion she had innocently inspired.
The invitation to join the yacht was the culminating point of many
exchanged civilities, and
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