"You don't think I tracked you down? We motored out here with no idea but to see Clive Connal——"
"Of course not." She strove to speak casually. "I couldn't expect to have a friend like Clive all to myself, but I never dreamed you knew her."
"She has been my friend for twelve years or more."
"Yes," said Kenna's voice from the stoep, "we are all old friends together here."
He had come out with belle Helène, and stood smiling upon them. The old malice was there, with some new element of strain that made him look more sardonic, yet strangely pathetic to the girl who feared him.
"Who'd have thought to find you here, Lady Di?" he sneered softly.
"Life is full of pleasant surprises!"
They all went into the dining-room, where tea was laid, and Clive brought in her picture-dealers, who proved to be two globe-trotters anxious to acquire specimens of South African art. Someone had told them that Clive Connal stood top of the tree amongst Cape painters, so they had spent about seven pounds ten on a car from Cape Town in the hope of getting some rare gem for a couple of guineas. One was a fat and pompous ass, the other a withered monkey of a fellow who hopped about peering through his monocle at the pictures on the walls, uttering deprecating criticism in the hope of bringing down prices.
"This sketch of Victoria Falls is not bad," he piped, gazing at a thing of tender mists and spraying water above a titanic rock-bound gorge. "The left foreground wants breaking up a bit, though!"
"I think you want breaking up a bit," muttered Clive, who had already made up her mind to sell him nothing, and looking longingly at her sjambok lying on the sideboard. "Where are Ghostie and the others?" she demanded.
"They had tea by themselves in Ghostie's room." Belle Helène proffered the statement rather hesitatingly, and no wonder, in a house where "les amies de mes amis sont mes amies" was the rule. It took more than that to offend Clive, but she looked astonished.