ve the vivid scene before her. The
smiling island, with its head in the mists and its feet in a sapphire sea
still as a painted lake; boats full of flowers, corals, ivories, silken
embroideries and unknown fruits; the burnished bodies of diving boys; the
odour of spices and sandalwood; the clatter of strange tongues; the dark
faces and bright clothes of the invading crowds of natives.

It was a spectacle to enchant the senses. She could not think why so
many passengers were scurrying to and fro anxious to be taken ashore. It
seemed as foolish as to try to get into a picture instead of sitting
before it.

Everyone was wearing light clothes, for summer had come at full bound,
and soon they would be in the tropics. There were beautifully cut white
linen suits, smart skirts, and filmy blouses. A popular saying on the
Cape mail-boats is that passengers to South Africa are all clothes and no
money, while passengers returning are all money and no clothes. April
did not know the epigram, nor the truth of it. But she could plainly
perceive that in the scanty kit of April Poole she would have been very
much out of the running among this smart and jaunty crowd.

As it was, clad in a sleek silken muslin of lovely lines, snowy shoes and
stockings, and a rose-laden hat, she could hold her own with any one. A
longing filled her to see Diana Vernilands. She wanted to talk to her,
exchange confidences, thank her, bless her, and, above all, to find out
what it was she found so attractive in her side of the game. What on
earth could it be that was so much more ravishing than to be at peace
with the world, respected by it, liked by it, and yet independent of it?
To wear lovely clothes in which you could enjoy the knowledge of looking
charming without meeting suspicion in the eyes of women and the
"good-hunting" glance in the eyes of men. This last constituted, indeed,
that "subtle reason" at which she had hinted to Diana. Life had harried
April too much for her few years. Obliged to travel its highways alone
and unprotected, some of the adventures encountered there had cut her to
the quick. While women looked askance at her, men looked too hard, and
too long. Doubtless she had met the wrong kind. Lonely young girls
without money or connections do not always find the knightly and
chivalrous gentlemen of their dreams! Naturally pure-hearted and
high-minded, she had asked nothing of those she did meet save respect and
good-