As she turned to go back to her cabin she found Geoffrey Bellew by her side. He appeared a little haggard, and some of his habitual self-assurance was missing. No doubt he had seen Table Mountain on former visits to Africa, yet he looked at it rather than into the eyes of the girl he addressed.
"Will you go to the Mount Nelson Hotel?" he said in a low tone. "I can meet you there, and we will talk matters over."
"When?" she said. Spring went out of her. "Where is the hotel?"
He reflected for a moment.
"Well, perhaps you had better give yourself into my charge. I will see you through the Customs, and drive you up afterwards, and make all arrangements—shall I?"
She consented. It seemed as good a plan as any for avoiding bother, and had the recommendation that it would keep off Vereker Sarle. So, later, when crowds began to surge and heave upon the ship, everyone mad with excitement at meeting their friends, and mountains of luggage barging in every direction, she stayed close by the side of this man she disliked intensely, yet whose smooth ability to deal with men and matters she could not but admire. Obstacles fell down like ninepins before him; stewards ran after him; officials waited upon him; his baggage, the heaviest and most cumbersome on the ship, was the first to go down the gangway, and April's with it. A few hurried farewells, and she found herself seated beside him in an open landau, driving behind a conveyance full of trunks towards the Customs House. A dull pain burned within her at the remembrance of Sarle's face. He had looked from her to Bellew with those steady eyes that saw so much and betrayed so little, merely remarking, as he took the hand she tendered lightly in farewell:
"One doesn't say good-bye in Africa, Lady Diana, only 'So long'—meaning that we may meet again tomorrow, perhaps even today."
He had not even looked after them as they left the ship. Yet April, because she loved him, was aware of his astonishment at this strange and sudden intimacy of hers with Bellew. Still, what was the use of caring? There were worse hurts in store for him, if, indeed, they met again as he predicted. She bit on the bullet and ignored the pain at her heart. Bellew did not waste any small talk on her; that was one comfort. He seemed to be more concerned about his luggage than about her, shouting out to the coloured men to be careful and to remove nothing from the van without his direction. At the Customs House, in fact, all his stuff was left assiduously alone. April's was opened and gone through rapidly by the officials; but the production of his papers and credentials as an attaché to the Governor of Zambeke, or some such outlandish place, gave Bellew instant immunity, and no single article of his belongings was unlocked. Within a few moments they were again en route for their hotel.
Their way took them by the main thoroughfare of the town, and April was astonished at the numbers of people flocking on the pavements, filling trams and rickshaws, drinking tea on the overhanging balconies and restaurants. The air was sunny, yet with the fresh bite of the sea in it, and everyone seemed gay and careless. The whole of one side of the wide street was lined by Malays and natives offering flowers for sale. In front of the Bank a sort of floral bazaar was established, the bright head "dookies," silver bangles, and glowing dark eyes of the vendors making a brave show above the massed glory of colour in their baskets. Huge bunches of pink proteas, spiked lilies of every hue, bales of heather and waxen white chinckerichees filled the air with heavy perfume. The sellers came pressing to the passing carriages, soliciting custom in the soft clipped speech of the Cape native. Bellew, for all he was so distrait, had the graceful inspiration to stop and take on a load of colour and perfume, and April for a moment lost count of her troubles in sheer joy of the senses.
"But where do they come from?" she cried. "I have never seen such flowers in the world."