Part 35 (1/2)
”You mean that the novelty hasn't worn off yet? No more it has; but even when it did, that would make but little difference. There is a charm about this beautiful country, with its solitudes, its grand mountains, and rolling plains, and wild a.s.sociations, which, so far from becoming tame, would grow upon one. And the climate, too, is perfect.”
Naylor laughed diffidently. ”Yes; but there's another side to that picture. How about bad seasons, and drought, and war, and locusts, and stock-lifting, and so on? It isn't all fun here on the frontier.”
”Now, I won't be disenchanted,” she retorted, with a bright smile. ”You must not try and spoil the picture I have drawn.”
”Then I won't. Hallo, Ethel! We've been looking for you,” he added, turning as he, for the first time, discovered she had joined them.
”Here's Miss Strange prepared to swear by the frontier--in fact, she has done so already.”
”Yes?” said Ethel, coming forward to greet Lilian; and Claverton could not help contrasting the two as they stood together: the one with her soft, dark, winning beauty, the lovely eyes never losing for a moment their serene composure; the other, bright, laughing, and golden, the full red lips ever ready to curl in mischief-loving jest or mocking retort, and hair like a rippling sunbeam. Yet nine men out of ten would probably have awarded the palm to Ethel. ”Yes?” she said, and, in her heart of hearts, added, ”and with her own reasons.” She did not feel very cordially towards Lilian just then.
”She says it's perfect, all round,” went on Naylor--”a young Paradise.”
”I don't know,” said Ethel. ”I shouldn't like to stay on the frontier all the year round. One would miss the b.a.l.l.s and theatre in Cape Town.”
”Aha!” laughed Emily, ”Ethel is still intent on slaughter. She made such havoc last session; ever so many poor fellows threw themselves off the cliffs on Table Mountain on her account; how many was it, Ethel-- twenty-five?--that she had to be spirited away in the night for fear of the vengeance of their bereaved mammas.”
”Call it fifty while you're about it,” she answered. ”How awfully hot it has become!”
This served as a pretext for a move indoors, which was made accordingly.
”So you're all determined to go back this evening,” said Naylor, as they sat in the verandah after dinner.
”I think we must,” answered Ethel; ”aunt will think we are never coming back.”
Hicks, who at the other end of the verandah was ”a.s.sisting” Laura to play with the children--these having finished their morning's lessons, had invaded the party--p.r.i.c.ked up his ears and looked rueful in advance.
If they were persuaded to stay, he would have to go anyhow; but Ethel was firm, and he breathed freely again.
”But, Claverton, you and Miss Strange might stop--to-night, at any rate,” persisted Naylor.
It was Ethel's turn to feel apprehensive. She had schooled herself into accepting the situation, and accepting it patiently. The strife had been a hard one, and she had suffered in it--suffered acutely, but she had conquered. Yet the struggle had not been won in a moment, and it had left its traces; but she seemed not to show them; she was a trifle graver, and more subdued in manner, that was all. A few days ago she had longed, with an intense longing, to get away--away from the sound of his voice, from the glance of his eyes; yet now that it is a question as to whether they shall return without him, her heart beats quick, and she seems to hang upon the verdict which they are all discussing so calmly.
”I don't think we can to-day, Naylor,” answered Claverton, a glance at Lilian having satisfied him that she did not favour the scheme.
”But look here,” Naylor was beginning, when his wife cut him short.
”Why shouldn't we inspan and go back with them, Ned? We can leave Seringa Vale again before breakfast if you like, and there's something I want to see mother about.”
”All right, we'll do that. Don't you think Seringa Vale is rather a good name for a place, Miss Strange?”
”Yes--so pretty,” answered Lilian; ”it's a poem in itself.”
”How do you like Thirlestane?”
”I like it, too. Did you name it?”
”Yes,” replied Naylor, ”it's called after a small place my grandfather had in England. Its original name is a Dutch one--_Uitkyk_, a look-out; but Thirlestane's better than _Uitkyk_, isn't it?”
”Jack Armitage calls it 'Oatcake' even to this day,” put in Claverton.