Untouchable--possibly! But remote--no. Whether consciously or
unconsciously he took her spiritually for granted. It was materially
that she was a wonder of the sort that is at the same time familiar and
sacred.
"No," Mrs. Travers began again, abruptly. "I never forgot myself in a
story. It was not in me. I have not even been able to forget myself on
that morning on shore which was part of my own story."
"You carried yourself first rate," said Lingard, smiling at the nape of
her neck, her ear, the film of escaped hair, the modelling of the corner
of her eye. He could see the flutter of the dark eyelashes: and the
delicate flush on her cheek had rather the effect of scent than of
colour.
"You approved of my behaviour."
"Just right, I tell you. My word, weren't they all struck of a heap when
they made out what you were."
"I ought to feel flattered. I will confess to you that I felt only half
disguised and was half angry and wholly uncomfortable. What helped me, I
suppose, was that I wanted to please. . . ."
"I don't mean to say that they were exactly pleased," broke in Lingard,
conscientiously. "They were startled more."
"I wanted to please you," dropped Mrs. Travers, negligently. A faint,
hoarse, and impatient call of a bird was heard from the woods as if
calling to the oncoming night.
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