Cape Town, that fall, was facing the end of the war and the
consequent departure of the swarm of young Englishmen who had made
their headquarters there during the past two years. Accordingly, it
resolved to make the most of the short time remaining to it; and the
early weeks of the year saw the little city neglecting all other
things for the sake of making merry with her fast-vanishing heroes.
And, in all the round of merry-making, Ethel Dent was in evidence,
bright and flashing as the diamonds that blazed on her shoulder, and
as soft. Her wit was ceaseless, her energy untiring. Always the
middle of a group, she yet always held herself within range of her
father's protection. He watched her proudly; yet his pride was
sometimes mingled with alarm, as he saw the waxy whiteness of her
ears and the dark shadows which lay beneath her eyes. It was plain
to him that all was not well with the girl; yet he was wholly at a
loss as to the cause of the trouble.
Strange to say, he never once thought of Weldon; neither did his
mind linger long upon the Captain. True, Ethel and Captain Frazer
had been good friends; but so had Ethel been good friends with many
another man.
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