“She has a way with her with natives,” said the senior officer present.

“It’s a pity,” said Monty.  “I mean, one scarcely likes to use this wharf and watch that.”

“Quite so.  Yet we daren’t accord her official recognition.  She’d be certain to make capital out of it.  We’re awfully glad she’s going.  The Residency atmosphere is one huge sigh of relief.  We would like to speed the parting guest, but it mayn’t be done.  However, you’ll know there are others not so particular.  I imagine her friends are late for the appointment.”

“Where’s she going?” asked Monty.

“British East Africa.”

“Mombasa?”

“And then on.  She has drafts on a German merchant in Nairobi.”

>From that moment until we were safely in our quarters on the steamer Monty’s attitude became one of rigid indifference toward her or anything to do with her.  The British officers went out to the steamer with us, but all the way Monty only talked of the climate, trade conditions, and the other subjects to which polite conversation of Africa’s east coast is limited.  Fred kept nudging him, but Monty took no notice.  Yerkes whispered to Fred. Then I heard Fred whisper to Monty in one of those raucous asides that he perfectly well knows can be heard by everybody.

“Why don’t you ask ’em about her, you ass?”

But Monty refused to rise.  He talked of the bowed and ancient slaves of Zanzibar, who refused in those days to be set free and afforded prolific ground for attack on British public morals by people whose business it is to abuse England for her peccadillos and forget her virtues.*

---------------
* In 1914 there were still thousands of slaves in German East, although
the German press and public were ever loudest in their condemnation of
British conditions.
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We reached the ship, and were watching our piles of luggage arrive up the accommodation ladder when the solution of Lady Isobel Saffren Waldon’s problem appeared.  She arrived alongside in the official boat of the German consulate, a German officer in white uniform on either hand, and the German ensign at the stern.

“Pretty fair impudence, paying official honors to our undesirables, yet I don’t see what we can do,” said the senior from the Residency.

Yerkes drew me aside.

“Did you ever see anything more stupidly British?” he demanded.

“It’s as obvious as the nose on your face that she’s up to some game.  It’s as plain as twice two that the Germans are backing her whether the British like it or not.  Look at those two Heinies now!”

We faced about and watched them.  After bowing Lady Waldon to her cabin, they approached our party with brazen claim to recognition—­and received it.  They were met, and spoken to apparently as cordially as if their friendship had been indisputable.