"MERELY SPENCE."
"So that's your latest, is it, Hermia?"
The remark was inconsequent, in that it came on top of nothing at all.
The time was the cool of the evening, and Blachland, lying back in a
deep cane chair, was lazily puffing out clouds of smoke. He had not
been talking much, and what little he had said consisted of a few drowsy
remarks about nothing in particular. Now, after an interval of silence,
came the above inconsequent one.
"My latest! Who and what on earth are you talking about, Hilary?"
"Merely Spence."
"Oh, is that all? He's such a nice boy, though, isn't he?"
"Candidly, he's only like thirty-nine out of forty, colourless."
"How can you say that, Hilary? Why, he's awfully handsome."
"Oh, I wasn't referring to externals, I mean the more important side of
him; and--there's nothing in him."
Hermia made no reply, she only smiled; but the smile was meant to convey
that she knew better. Nothing in him! Wasn't there? If Hilary only
knew?
Truth to tell, however, she was a little relieved. This was the first
reference he had made to the subject, and his silence all these hours
had rendered her uneasy. What if he suspected? Now he seemed to drop
it as though it were not worth pursuing. She, however, paradoxically
enough, intended to let him know that it was. Could she not make him
just one atom jealous?
"Poor fellow, he's so lonely over at his camp," she pursued. "It does
him good to come over here now and then."
"Who?" said Blachland. His mind was running on the subject of
Umzilikazi's grave, and the trustworthiness or the reverse of Hlangulu.
"Who? Why, Justin of course. Weren't we talking about him?"
"Were--yes, that's it. We were, but I had forgotten all about him, and
was thinking of something totally different. What were you saying?
That he was lonely in camp? Well, that's very likely; but then, you
see, it's one of the conditions attendant upon prospecting. And he may
as well chuck prospecting if he's going to spend life galloping over
here."