until much later that this pleasant lounge was one of the
principal gossip centres of the country. In its smoky atmosphere many
a fair reputation has withered away, many a great name been tarnished
for ever. As for the baby scandals that are born there, have legs and
arms and wings stuck on to them and are sent anteloping or flying all
over the country, their name is legion!

Bellew had left her immediately after lunch. He said that he had an
appointment with an old friend of his mother's, and should be leaving
to stay with her for several days before continuing his journey. April
had, in fact, from her seat in the lounge seen him come out of the lift
into the hall accompanied by a little bent old lady, and watched them
drive away together in a taxi. Thereafter she breathed more freely,
and a longing to be in the open air out of this smoke-laden atmosphere
moved her to extricate herself from the chattering crowd of women and
make her way to the veranda. It was cool and fresh there under the
stone porticoes, with veils of green creepers hanging between her and
the blazing sunshine and colour of the garden. She sat down, and, as
is always the way with a woman in moments of silence and beauty, her
thoughts immediately clustered about the image of the man she loved.
What was Vereker Sarle thinking of her? Would he go from the Cape to
his home up north without trying to see her again? While she pondered
these things he walked out through one of the tall French windows and
came towards her, followed by his dark, saturnine friend. They
approached like men sure of a welcome, Sarle smiling in his disarmingly
boyish fashion, the other man smiling too: but with a difference.
There was some quality of sardonic amusement and curiosity in his
glance that arrested April's instant attention.

"I warned you that it is hard to shake off your friends in this
country," said Sarle gaily. "May we come and sit with you for a little
while? Sir Ronald tells me that you and he are quite old friends."

Her heart gave a leap. Instantly she understood the sardonic amusement
of the stranger's demeanour. If any other man than Sarle had been
there she would have thrown up the sponge. But she could not bear to
have the truth stripped and exposed there before him. It was too
brutal. If he must know, he should know in a less cruel manner than
that. She faced the new-comer squarely, her features frozen to an
outward composure.

"This