|On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishedabmefq

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eard
d'Alcacer coming out of the Cage. His cultivated voice asked half
playfully:
"Have you had a satisfactory conversation? May I be told
something of it?"
"Mr. d'Alcacer, you are curious."
"Well, in our position, I confess. . . . You are our only refuge,
remember."
"You want to know what we were talking about," said Mrs. Travers,
altering slowly her position so as to confront d'Alcacer whose
face was almost undistinguishable. "Oh, well, then, we talked
about opera, the realities and illusions of the stage, of
dresses, of people's names, and things of that sort."
"Nothing of importance," he said courteously. Mrs. Travers moved
forward and he stepped to one side. Inside the Cage two Malay
hands were hanging round lanterns, the light of which fell on Mr.
Travers' bowed head as he sat in his chair.
When they were all assembled for the evening meal Jorgenson
strolled up from nowhere in particular as his habit was, and
speaking through the muslin announced that Captain Lingard begged
to be excused from joining the company that evening. Then he
strolled away. From that moment till they got up from the table
and the camp bedsteads were brought in not twenty words passed
between the members of the party within the net. The strangeness
of their situatyilai：
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|On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishedabmdct