eople: for Merry, who was as nearly as possible
incandescent, and for the woman, who was merely burned out.

"I looked everywhere," he affirmed, in childlike earnestness. "I looked
at Samarang. I looked at Batavia. I looked at Palembang. That's a mean
sort of place, don't you think?... Did you go to Palembang?"

"No," said the girl with the pink wristbands.

"I don't see how I missed you."

"You missed me, all right. You missed me at the start--at Singapore.
That was the time to find me."

He drew his breath as if in his sleep she had prodded some old wound,
and the dent between his brows deepened.

"I did look for you at Singapore."

"You looked too late," said the girl with the pink wristbands.

"I went to the Jalan Sultan," he pleaded. "You lived in a house in the
Jalan Sultan, at Singapore. It was there I met you.... But when I went
back to fetch you--you were gone!"

"Yes," she said dully. "I was gone.... They heard you promise to take me
away. The captain--he said you wouldn't come back. He said you wouldn't
dare--too likely to get your throat cut if you tried it. He said his
people had scared you good. And you didn't come back that night."

"No." His stare was fixed and waking. "No. I didn't come back that
night."

"The captain said you were scared. I didn't know. But I sat up waiting
like we had planned--you and me. I was waiting and waiting. And you
didn't come. Why?--?" Her flat voice slipped a note. "Why--why--why
didn't you come that night? _Were_ you scared?"

"I was drunk," he said. "God forgive me!"

Such tones a man may use when his naked soul is hauled out of him and
stood up for judgment.

"It doesn't matter." She sank back again. "I wanted to get away
then.... Afterward I didn't care."

The drink was taking hold of him, bracing him each instant nearer to an
actual comprehension.

"Why didn't you care?" he demanded.

She pulled back the pink silk bands from her wrist and held them before
him.

"That's one reason."

The man drew himself convulsively to his knees.

"Who did it? Who did that?"

"Silva. The captain--don't you know?"

"Silva?"

"They call him Captain Silva. He isn't really. He's a half-caste
himself, only he pretends--and he scares everybody so. It was him
brought me here. He's going to sell me to Zimballo."

"Zimballo!"

She nodded. "I suppose he'll sell me. I'm not worth much as a nina de
salon, but I'm pretty tough. I've lasted--you see.... And--he says