Eric was our pseudonym for Race. I chose it because it is a name I dislike exceedingly. There was clearly nothing to be done until I could see Pagett. Suzanne employed herself in sending off a long soothing cable to the far-off Clarence. She became quite sentimental over him. In her way—which of course is quite different from me and Harry—she is really fond of Clarence.
“I do wish he was here, Anne,” she gulped. “It’s such a long time since I’ve seen him.”
“Have some face cream,” I said soothingly.
Suzanne rubbed a little on the tip of her charming nose.
“I shall want some more face cream soon too,” she remarked, “and you can only get this kind in Paris.” She sighed. “Paris!”
“Suzanne,” I said, “very soon you’ll have had enough of South Africa and adventure.”
“I should like a really nice hat,” admitted Suzanne wistfully. “Shall I come with you to meet Guy Pagett to-morrow?”
“I prefer to go alone. He’d be shyer speaking before two of us.”
So it came about that I was standing in the doorway of the hotel on the following afternoon, struggling with a recalcitrant parasol that refused to go up, whilst Suzanne lay peacefully on her bed with a book and a basket of fruit.
According to the hotel porter, the train was on its good behaviour to-day and would be almost on time, though he was extremely doubtful whether it would ever get through to Johannesburg. The line had been blown up, so he solemnly assured me. It sounded cheerful!