"I have a right to my good name," said Lingard, also very calm, while
Mrs. Travers near him, with half-veiled eyes, listened impassive like a
presiding genius.
"I wouldn't question that for a moment," conceded d'Alcacer. "A point
of honour is not to be discussed. But there is such a thing as humanity,
too. To be delivered up helplessly. . . ."
"Perhaps!" interrupted Lingard. "But you needn't feel hopeless. I am
not at liberty to give up my life for your own. Mrs. Travers knows why.
That, too, is engaged."
"Always on your honour?"
"I don't know. A promise is a promise."
"Nobody can be held to the impossible," remarked d'Alcacer.
"Impossible! What is impossible? I don't know it. I am not a man to talk
of the impossible or dodge behind it. I did not bring you here."
D'Alcacer lowered his head for a moment. "I have finished," he said,
gravely. "That much I had to say. I hope you don't think I have appeared
unduly anxious."
"It's the best policy, too." Mrs. Travers made herself heard suddenly.
Nothing of her moved but her lips, she did not even raise her eyes.
"It's the only possible policy. You believe me, Mr. d'Alcacer? . . ." He
made an almost imperceptible movement of the head. . . . "Well, then,
I put all my hope in you, Mr. d'Alcacer, to get this over as easily as
possible and save us all from some odious scene.
Pages:
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420