"You _say_ that, but you don't _believe_ it. Oh! you are very
transparent, Mr. Quatermain--at least, to me."

So, hurriedly enough, for these subjects seemed to be uncomfortable,
even dangerous in a sense, I began to talk of the first thing about
Africa that I remembered--namely, of the legend of the Holy Flower that
was guarded by a huge ape, of which I had heard from a white man who was
supposed to be rather mad, who went by the name of Brother John. Also I
told her that there was something in it, as I had with me a specimen of
the flower.

"Oh! show it me," she said.

I replied that I feared I could not, as it was locked away in a safe in
London, whither I was returning on the morrow. I promised, however, to
send her a life-sized water-colour drawing of which I had caused several
to be made. She asked me if I were going to look for this flower, and
I said that I hoped so if I could make the necessary arrangements. Next
she asked me if there chanced to be any other African quests upon which
I had set my mind. I replied that there were several. For instance, I
had heard vaguely through Brother John, and indirectly from one or
two other sources, of the existence of a certain tribe in East Central
Africa--Arabs or semi-Arabs--who were reported to worship a child that
always remained a child. This child, I took it, was a dwarf; but as I
was interested in native religious customs which were infinite in their
variety, I should much like to find out the truth of the matter.

"Talking of Arabs," she broke in, "I will tell you a curious story. Once
when I was a little girl, eight or nine years of age--it was just before