Ben Halse showed no surprise when Denham broke the news to him; in fact,
he felt none. What he did feel was a sharp pang at heart as he realised
that he must go through the rest of his life alone. Well, it was bound
to come some day, and one compensation was that it could not have come
under more favourable circumstances. He had known the other long enough
to have decided that had Verna searched the world over she could not
have found a more fitting mate.
"Sure you're in earnest about this, Denham?" he said. "Here you two
have been thrown together for days and weeks. You've seen hardly
anybody but ourselves all that time, and no women. I'm a plain man, you
know, and I always speak my mind, so you mustn't be offended."
"Why, of course not. But you won't mind my saying that you are arguing
against your own argument. If, as you say, Verna and I have been thrown
together all this time and are vastly less tired of each other than the
day we first met, isn't that a pretty fair test?"
"M'yes. It cuts both ways, I suppose."
The two were seated in the shade of a wild fig-tree at the back of the
house, and a little way from it, on the morning after the scene in the
forest. Those words, "the first day we met," carried Ben's thoughts
back to that very day when he had sat watching the pair walking down the
garden path at the Nodwengu Hotel, and the possibility of just such a
development had crossed his mind.
"If you were a younger man, Denham," he went on, "I should be inclined
to say, go away for a little while so as to make sure of yourself, and
treat this as never having been. Then, if you are, come back again.
But you're old enough to know your own mind; at any rate, if you're not
now you never will be, that's sure."
The other laughed, lightly, pleasantly.
"Thanks," he said; "I cordially agree as to the last, but totally
disagree as to the first. Why, Halse, you surprise me. Doesn't it
occur to you that Verna may have feelings to be considered, and that the
course you hint at might be a little bit rough on her? for I am
conceited enough to believe that she has a very decided preference for
the propinquity rather than for the absence of my unworthy self. How
does that strike you?"
"I don't know." And the speaker subsided into thoughtful silence, and
began slowly to cram his pipe. Denham, watching the movement of the
gnarled brown hands, the set of the strong, handsome face, thought he
could read what was passing in the other's mind. He, himself, a
stranger of a few weeks' acquaintance, had come here to rob this man of
the light of his home, of the pride and joy of his life, to destine him
to loneliness thenceforward until his death. Something of this he put
into words, with a rare and tactful sympathy.
"Ah, yes," was the answer. "I might have been thinking something of the
kind; in fact, I've often thought of it. The thing was bound to come
some day, of course; but I've always told myself there was plenty of
time, and at the girl's age two or three or four years would make no
great difference. But there--it doesn't do to be selfish."
Denham, recognising the shake in the voice of this strong man, put forth
his hand, which the other gripped, and for a few moments there was
silence.
"I've never seen any one I would so willingly entrust my Verna to as
yourself, Denham," said Ben Halse presently; "so there's compensation in
that."
"You flatter me too much, Halse. But you won't mind my saying you are
about the most imprudent parent-in-law elect I ever heard or read of."
He laughed as he said this. He was glad to throw off the serious vein.
"Why?"
"Because you are taking me so absolutely on trust. You know nothing
about me. I may be a fraud financially. I may be an intending
bigamist; in fact, anything. Now I tell you what. Before you give me
Verna entirely you are to write to my solicitors--the two senior
partners of the firm have known me ever since I was born. Write to them
privately and separately, and make any and every inquiry that may occur
to you."