rk. Beyond the simple wish to guide Lingard's thought in
the direction of Hassim and Immada, to help him to make up his mind at
last to a ruthless fidelity to his purpose Jorgenson had no other aim.
The existence of those whites had no meaning on earth. They were the
sort of people that pass without leaving footprints. That woman would
have to act in ignorance. And if she refused to go then in ignorance she
would have to stay on board. He would tell her nothing.

As a matter of fact, he discovered that Mrs. Travers would simply have
nothing to do with him. She would not listen to what he had to say. She
desired him, a mere weary voice confined in the darkness of the deck
cabin, to go away and trouble her no more. But the ghost of Jorgenson
was not easily exorcised. He, too, was a mere voice in the outer
darkness, inexorable, insisting that she should come out on deck and
listen. At last he found the right words to say.

"It is something about Tom that I want to tell you. You wish him well,
don't you?"

After this she could not refuse to come out on deck, and once there she
listened patiently to that white ghost muttering and mumbling above her
drooping head.

"It seems to me, Captain Jorgenson," she said after he had ceased,
"that you are simply trifling with me. After your behaviour to me this
morning, I can have nothing to say to you."

"I have a canoe for you now," mumbled Jorgenson.

"You have some new purpose in view now," retorted Mrs. Travers with
spirit. "But you won't make it clear to me. What is it that you have in
your mind?"

"Tom's interest."

"Are you really his friend?"

"He brought me here. You know it. He has talked a lot to you."

"He did. But I ask myself whether you are capable of being anybody's
friend."

"You ask yourself!" repeated Jorgenson, very quiet and morose. "If I am
not his friend I should like to know who is."

Mrs. Travers asked, quickly: "What's all this about a ring? What ring?"

"Tom's property. He has had it for years."

"And he gave it to you? Doesn't he care for it?"

"Don't know. It's just a thing."

"But it has a meaning as between you and him. Is that so?"

"Yes. It has. He will know what it means."

"What does it mean?"

"I am too much his friend not to hold my tongue."

"What! To me!"

"And who are you?" was Jorgenson's unexpected remark. "He has told you
too much already."

"Perhaps he has," whispered Mrs. Travers, as if to herself. "And you
want