For some reason or other she took a particular aversion to me.

Oh! I can see her now, seated in that saloon with the oil lamp swinging over her head (she always chose the position under the oil lamp because it showed off her diamonds).

And I can hear her too.

"Don't bring any of your elephant-hunting manners here, Mr.Allan" (with an emphasis on the Allan) "Quatermain, they are not fit for polite society.

You should go and brush your hair, Mr.Quatermain." (I may explain that my hair sticks up naturally.) Then would come her little husband's horrified "Hush! hush! you are quite insulting, my dear." Oh! why do I remember it all after so many years when I have even forgotten the people's names?
One of those little things that stick in the mind, I suppose.