"Would you believe that her father was a clergyman? Bread and dripping! and jam scratched out of a tin! This comes of living in the wilds of Africa, I suppose. An entire loss of culture!"
The daughter of the clergyman must have surprised them a good deal by her unexpected spurt of holiness in refusing to sell pictures on a Sunday. They wound up their old taxi and went away very much annoyed at having come so far for nothing.
"Whose then is the Babylonian litter with trappings of scarlet and gold?" asked Clive, as the Ford rattled off. "You don't mean to say you fellows came in a thing like that?"
They denied it until seventy times seven. The grey torpedo was Sarle's. Kenna was of opinion that the owners of the crimson caravan must be Johannesburgers, and "dripping with it."
"Not Johannesburgers," disputed Clive, with a wry lip. "No; they're too exclusive for that."
Something must have gone very wrong indeed with the atmosphere for Clive to start sneering. In truth some jangling element unnatural to the sweet accord of Ho-la-lé-la had been introduced, and did not leave with the strangers.
They settled down to smoke in the studio, but there was more smoke about than tranquillity. Sarle seemed distrait. _Belle_ Helène sometimes cast an uneasy glance at April, who, still very pale, sat by herself on the lounge. Only Clive and Kenna talked racily, but in jerks, of cattle, fruit-blight, mules, and white ants. But presently all subjects of conversation seemed to peter out, leaving a dark pool of silence to form between them in the room. Kenna it was who threw the stone disturbing those still waters.
"Has any one told you, Miss Connal, about the girl who committed suicide on the _Clarendon Castle_?"
For a full moment not a word was spoken. Sarle, staring, made a movement with his hand over his mat of hair. April's lids fell over her eyes as though afflicted by a deadly weariness. Clive changed her cigarette from one corner of her mouth to the other before answering briefly:
"Yes; I know all about it." Which seemed to astonish Kenna.
"Why, Kenna, I told you everything there was to know. Besides, it was in the papers."
"No, Kerry. You told me something . . . and the papers told me something. _Everything_ can only be related by one person." Dramatically he fixed his glance upon that person. There was no mistaking the challenge. April found courage to return his glance, but her eyes looked like the eyes of a drowning girl. At the sight of them two people were moved to action. _Belle_ Helène rose and slipped from the room. Sarle also rose, but it was to seat himself again by April's side on the lounge.