His wife
turned toward the looking-glass nailed to the wall. She heard his voice
behind her.
"Edith, where's the truth in all this?"
She detected the anguish of a slow mind with an instinctive dread of
obscure places wherein new discoveries can be made. She looked over her
shoulder to say:
"It's on the surface, I assure you. Altogether on the surface."
She turned again to the looking-glass where her own face met her with
dark eyes and a fair mist of hair above the smooth forehead; but her
words had produced no soothing effect.
"But what does it mean?" cried Mr. Travers. "Why doesn't the fellow
apologize? Why are we kept here? Are we being kept here? Why don't we
get away? Why doesn't he take me back on board my yacht? What does he
want from me? How did he procure our release from these people on shore
who he says intended to cut our throats? Why did they give us up to him
instead?"
Mrs. Travers began to twist her hair on her head.
"Matters of high policy and of local politics. Conflict of personal
interests, mistrust between the parties, intrigues of individuals--you
ought to know how that sort of thing works. His diplomacy made use of
all that. The first thing to do was not to liberate you but to get you
into his keeping. He is a very great man here and let me tell you that
your safety depends on his dexterity in the use of his prestige rather
than on his power which he cannot use.
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