At this Mr. Travers positively jumped, and forgot himself so far as to shout: 

“You are an impudent fellow.  I have nothing more to say to you.”

D’Alcacer, after muttering to himself, “This is getting serious,” made a movement, and could not believe his ears when he heard Mrs. Travers say rapidly with a kind of fervour: 

“Don’t go, pray; don’t stop them.  Oh!  This is truth—­this is anger—­something real at last.”

D’Alcacer leaned back at once against the rail.

Then Mr. Travers, with one arm extended, repeated very loudly: 

“Nothing more to say.  Leave my ship at once!”

And directly the black dog, stretched at his wife’s feet, muzzle on paws and blinking yellow eyes, growled discontentedly at the noise.  Mrs. Travers laughed a faint, bright laugh, that seemed to escape, to glide, to dart between her white teeth.  D’Alcacer, concealing his amazement, was looking down at her gravely:  and after a slight gasp, she said with little bursts of merriment between every few words: 

“No, but this is—­such—­such a fresh experience for me to hear—­to see something—­genuine and human.  Ah! ah! one would think they had waited all their lives for this opportunity—­ah! ah! ah!  All their lives—­for this! ah! ah! ah!”

These strange words struck d’Alcacer as perfectly just, as throwing an unexpected light.  But after a smile, he said, seriously: 

“This reality may go too far.  A man who looks so picturesque is capable of anything.  Allow me—­” And he left her side, moving toward Lingard, loose-limbed and gaunt, yet having in his whole bearing, in his walk, in every leisurely movement, an air of distinction and ceremony.

Lingard spun round with aggressive mien to the light touch on his shoulder, but as soon as he took his eyes off Mr. Travers, his anger fell, seemed to sink without a sound at his feet like a rejected garment.

“Pardon me,” said d’Alcacer, composedly.  The slight wave of his hand was hardly more than an indication, the beginning of a conciliating gesture.  “Pardon me; but this is a matter requiring perfect confidence on both sides.  Don Martin, here, who is a person of importance. . . .”

“I’ve spoken my mind plainly.  I have said as much as I dare.  On my word I have,” declared Lingard with an air of good temper.

“Ah!” said d’Alcacer, reflectively, “then your reserve is a matter of pledged faith—­of—­of honour?”

Lingard also appeared thoughtful for a moment.

“You may put it that way.  And I owe nothing to a man who couldn’t see my hand when I put it out to him as I came aboard.”

“You have so much the advantage of us here,” replied d’Alcacer, “that you may well be generous and forget that oversight; and then just a little more confidence. . . .”

“My dear d’Alcacer, you are absurd,” broke in Mr. Travers, in a calm voice but with white lips.  “I did not come out all this way to shake hands promiscuously and receive confidences from the first adventurer that comes along.”