The dictum of Ben Halse with regard to his daughter and their new friend
was unconsciously echoed by more than one passer-by, as the two strolled
leisurely along the broad road which constituted the main "street" of
the township, between its lines of foliage, Verna nodding to an
acquaintance here and there. Denham was rather an out-of-the-way kind
of stranger to drop suddenly into their midst, and again, he seemed to
be "in" with the Halses. Could he be an English relation of theirs?
they wondered, for there was an unmistakable "out from home" stamp upon
him.
"Do you know, you are rather a puzzle to me, Miss Halse," he suddenly
broke out, with regard to nothing in particular.
"Am I? In what way?"
They had reached one of the winding forest roads which had been
artificially cleared, and thus made into delightful drives or walks.
High overhead the tall tree-tops met, and in the shade beneath, the
gaze, turning to either side, met nothing but actual "forest primeval."
"Why, in this way," he answered, "Your own surroundings at home, from
your account of it and your father's, must be uncommonly like this; yet
when you _get_ here, among a lot of other people, and houses and gardens
and tennis, and all that sort of thing, the first thing you do is to
start off for a lonely walk in the forest."
"Lonely walk? But I don't feel lonely. You--are fairly good company."
And she flashed at him an uncommonly captivating smile.
"I? Oh, I am an accident. You would have gone anyhow, with or without
me."
With the words something struck him. Was he such an "accident" after
all? Denham was not a conceited man, but he was no fool. He was a man
of the world, and was perfectly well aware that from a "worldly goods"
point of view he would be regarded as a "catch" by most women. Yet
somehow, even if the fact of his being here was not accidental, the idea
did not displease him--anything but. And he had known his present
companion exactly three hours and a half.
"I suppose I should," she answered. "As for the `other people,' I don't
know that I care much about anybody. They're a very good sort, and
we're civil to each other when we meet, and so on. But that's about
all. I've been so much alone, you see."
"You remind me of the standing joke about the London 'bus driver--when
he gets a day off he spends it riding about on top of another 'bus as a
`fare,' likewise the actor, under similar circumstances, goes to other
theatres."
Verna laughed. "Yes, I suppose I'm like that, too. But, do you know,
I'm rather energetic--must always be moving."
"So I should judge. It's lovely here, but these dense growths of
vegetation, especially down in a hollow like this, always strike me as
miasmatic."
Verna looked surprised.
"But this is the first time you have been into--in this country, at any
rate."
He smiled. He could have told a different story.
"I have been in South America, and the forest belts here are a joke to
that. But tell me now about the shooting of the record koodoo. Your
father wasn't joking when he said it was your work?"
"No, it's true." Then she stopped. A sudden idea had struck her. She
did not want to pose as an Amazon before this acquaintance of just three
hours and three-quarters. She wished her father had said nothing about
it.
"Well done. Why, you're a regular Diana," said Denham enthusiastically.
"A regular what? I told you I was utterly uneducated."
"So you did, and I didn't believe you, nor do I now. Ladies are not
expected to be up in the classics, except the `advanced' ones, and
they're none the better for it. Well, the party I mentioned was a
mythical female given to shooting stags with a bow and arrows that
wouldn't damage a mouse--at least that's how she's represented in
sculpture and painting. Likewise with an incidental cur or two thrown
in."
Verna laughed merrily.
"Oh, is that it?" she said. "Well, I told you I was an ignoramus."
"Yes; but tell me now about the shooting of the record head."
She told him, told the story graphically and well, but so far as her own
part in it was concerned rather diffidently.
Denham was interested with a vengeance, and in his own mind could not
but draw contrasts. This girl, walking beside him in her neat, tasteful
attire, why, they might have been walking on an English country road or
in an English park! She would have fitted in equally well there. She
might have been giving him an account of some dance or theatrical
performance, yet just as naturally did she narrate the midnight poaching
expedition and the shooting of the large animal by the light of the
moon--by herself. The naturalness of her, too, struck him with
astonishment: the utter self-possession, living, as she did, a secluded
life.
"What are you thinking about?" she said, for he had relapsed into
unconscious silence.
"About you," he answered.
"About me? I expect I can guess what you were thinking."
"Try."
"Very well. You were thinking: Here's a boisterous, sporting female,
who rides and shoots like a man, and who fires pistol shots at natives
when they offend her; and who probably smokes and swears and drinks,
into the bargain."
"Go on. Anything else?"
"No; that's enough to go on with."
"All right. I was thinking nothing of the kind. I was thinking of your
pluck, for one thing, and your naturalness for another. I was also
thinking that we were having an awfully jolly walk."
"Yes, it is jolly, isn't it?" she answered, with that very "naturalness"
that he had applauded. "I'm enjoying it no end. Was that all you were
thinking?"
"Must I answer that question?"
"Certainly."
"I was thinking what a delightful speaking voice yours is. It must be
great as a singing one."
A slight flush came over her face.
"You must not pay me compliments, Mr Denham. I had a better opinion of
you. But I'm not musical at all. I haven't even got a piano, and if I
had I couldn't play it. `Utterly uneducated,' as I told you."
This was met by the same unbelieving head-shake.
"By the way, how many of you are there in the family?" he asked.
"You've seen all the family. My mother died when I was quite a wee
kiddie, so did a brother. I can't remember either of them. So you see
there are only the two of us."
"I suppose you get girl friends to visit you sometimes?"
"They'd be bored to death in a week. Besides, I haven't got any."
"How strange!"
"Yes, isn't it? But then, you see, I've never been to school, and am
seldom away from home. So I have neither time nor opportunity to make
them."
"You are a problem," he said, looking at her with a strange expression.
"Am I? Well, at any rate, now you know what to expect. But I don't
think you'll get bored, because you have strong interests of your own."
Denham was above uttering such a banality as that he could not get bored
if she was there, but he felt it all the same. A problem he had called
her. Yes, she was a problem indeed; and he would be surprised if she
were not the most interesting one with which he had ever been faced.
"Look," went on Verna, coming to a standstill and pointing with her
light _umzimbiti_ walking-stick. "That's not bad for a view."
They had emerged from the forest ravine and now stood on high ground.
The plains swept away to a line of round-topped hills, whose slopes were
intersected with similar forest-filled ravines to that behind them,
making dark stripes upon the bright green of the slope. It was a lovely
evening, and the sky was blue and cloudless.
"No; it's beautiful," he answered. "I came here that way, round the
back of that range."
"But that's the way to Makanya. You didn't come from Makanya?"
"No; I left it on the left. I wanted to find my way across country.
All that forest part is splendid, but rough."
"Were you alone?"
"Yes, except when I got a native as guide for what looked like some of
the most difficult parts."
Verna's pretty lips emitted a whistle, as she looked at him in
astonishment.
"You did rather a risky thing," she said. "The people down there are
none too well affected, and it's hardly safe in these days for a
solitary white man in some parts of the country. And the Zulus are not
what they used to be. But how did you manage about talking?"
"Oh, I had picked up an ordinary word or two, and the potent sign of a
half-crown piece did the rest. It was quite interesting as an
experience, really."
Verna still looked at him astonished; then she remembered he had said
something about South America; still, his undertaking was at that time,
as she had said, a risky thing. He, remembering one experience, at any
rate, thought she was very likely right.
"Well, you mustn't take any risks when you are with us," she said.
"Why? Are the people your way disaffected, too?"
"It isn't so much that, but you might get lost wandering about by
yourself. The forest country is flatter, and there are no landmarks, at
any rate, that would be of any use to a stranger."
"Oh, I'm not much afraid of that," he answered lightly. They had
resumed their walk, which lay back through the forest by a different
way, chatting freely about anything and everything, as if they had known
each other for years, at least so Denham looked upon it. He had had a
most delightful walk, he told her, and she said she was glad. What he
did not tell her was that he had found in her personality something so
alluring, in her propinquity something so magnetic that it seemed ages
ago when he had never known her. And now he was due to spend an
indefinite time in a wild and unfrequented place, with herself and her
father as sole companions. Assuredly the situation was charged with
potentialities, but from such Alaric Denham, recognising, did not
shrink.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Two figures were walking a little way in front of them as they drew near
the hotel garden gate.
"Why, who can that be with father?" said Verna. Then, as they got a
little nearer, "Why, if it isn't Harry Stride!"
"Who's he?"
"A prospector. He's a nice boy. A little while ago he got into a
difference of opinion with some of our people and learnt which was
softest--his head or a knobkerrie. We mended him up, but it took a
little while."
"Poor chap. Is he all right now?"
"Oh yes." And the other two, hearing them, turned and waited.
During the greetings which followed a mere glance was sufficient to make
Denham acquainted with two things--one, that the newcomer was over head
and ears in love with Verna Halse, and the other that Verna was not in
the least in love with him. She greeted him with frank, open-hearted
friendliness, while his face, in that brief moment, spoke volumes.
Then the two men were introduced, and Denham became alive to the fact
that the other regarded him with no friendly eyes.
"Poor boy," he thought to himself. "He is handsome, too, very, in the
Anglo-Saxon, blue-eyed style, manly-looking as well. I wonder why he
has no show."
As the evening wore on this subtle antagonism deepened, at any rate such
was obvious to the object thereof. Yet Denham laid himself out to be
friendly. He made no attempt to monopolise Verna's society, but spent
most of the time chatting and smoking with her father, leaving the other
a clear field so far as he himself was concerned. And of this the other
had laid himself out to make the most; as why should he not, since he
had ridden a two days' journey with that express object?
Once, when the conversation was general, and turning on the probability
of a general rising, the subject of the state of native feeling in the
Makanya district came up; Verna said, "Mr Denham came right through the
Makanya bush all alone."
But it happened that several people were talking at once, as is not
unfrequently the case when a topic of public interest is under
discussion, and the remark was lost. Verna did not repeat it. Some
strange, unaccountable instinct kept her from doing so. It could be
nothing else but instinct, for certainly Denham himself gave no sign of
having so much as heard it. But the time was to come when she should
look back on that instinct with very real meaning indeed.