Instances are, where the meaning of a native nickname is too subtle for the nominee himself—though any Zulu who runs may read and understand. If Luce Abinger had asked his servants why they called him Shlalaimbona, they would have shrugged shoulders and hung their heads, with a gentle, deprecating gesture. Being questioned, they would look blank; being told to get out and go to the devil, they would look modest. Afterwards they would exchange swift dark glances, and smiling, repeat among themselves with a gesture of stabbing: "Shlalaimbona!" Literally this word means—stab when you see him. What they meant by applying this name to Abinger, God and themselves knew best. Poppy had often pondered the reason, but she had never made any inquiries for fear it might have something to do with Abinger's scar. For another thing, Abinger desired her never to talk to the boys.
"Keep them at a distance: they will be all the better servants," was his command; and in this, as in most things, Poppy found it wiser to obey him.
Babiyaan continued to give interesting information to Umzibu.
"Just as Shlalaimbona was going to get into the carriage, Umkoomata came to the docks and fell upon him with great friendliness. Afterwards they went to an hotel to drink. Then Umkoomata made a plan for meeting at the Ker-luk when Intandugaza would be there and others—Baas Brookifield, he with the curled hair and the white teeth; and that other one, Caperone, whose wife is like a star with light around it; and Port-tal, who is always gay with an angry face."
At this juncture Umzibu missed Poppy's coffee-cup, and coming into the verandah to seek it, the presence of Poppy was revealed to him. He immediately communicated the fact by sign to Babiyaan, and a silence fell. Thereafter no more confidences; Poppy was left to speculate upon the identity of the person who wore so fascinating a title as Intandugaza, which name she translated to herself as Beloved of women. The word Umkoomata, too, had a charm of its own.
"That means someone who is very reliable, literally Sturdy One. I should like to know that man," she thought.
At about this time it occurred to her that she was tired and would go to rest in her room a while. She had risen at five that morning to watch the African coast and revel in the thought that she would soon have her foot on her own land again. The excitement of the day had tired her more than she knew. When she looked in her glass to rake the little gold combs through her hair, she saw that she was pale. The only colour about her was her scarlet ardent mouth and the flower at her breast.
She flung off her gown and plunged her arms and face into cold water, then let down her hair with a rush and pulling her chair opposite her mirror, she sat down in company she had never so far found uninteresting—the company of her own reflection.
She did not put on a wrapper. For one thing the day was warm, for another she found great pleasure in seeing her bare pale arms and shoulders, and the tall pale throat above them, so slim and young. Indeed, there are few more beautiful things in the world than a young throat—be it girl's or boy's, bird's or beast's.
The scarlet flower she had plucked at the door she wore now between her breasts. She looked at the girl in the glass a long, long time, and the girl looked back at her. But it was not the look of the woman who counts and examines her weapons, for Poppy Destin was heart-whole; she had never yet looked into her glass to see how she was reflected in some man's eyes. Always she looked to wonder. The transformation of herself from what she had been only six years ago to what she was now at eighteen, never ceased to fascinate and amaze her. When she thought of the tormented, tragic features she had feared to catch a glimpse of, and looked now into that narrow scarlet-lipped, lilac-eyed subtle face, crowned with fronds of black, black hair, she believed she must be witnessing a miracle. When she remembered her aching, thin, childish body, beaten, emaciated, lank, and beheld herself now, long-limbed, apple-breasted, with the slim strong grace and beauty of a Greek boy, she could have shouted for joy and amazement at the wonder of it all.