The
orange of the sunset was behind her, turning her hair to living
gold. It fell full upon the face of the man before her, and she
was conscious of a powerful sense of repugnance. Low-browed,
wide-nosed, and prominent of jaw, with close-set eyes of monkeyish
craft, such was the countenance of Piet Vreiboom. He sat and
stared at her, his hat on his head, his pipe in his mouth.
"How do you do, Mrs. Ranger?" he said.
Sylvia checked her advance, but in a moment Burke Ranger's hand
closed, upon her elbow, quietly impelling her forward.
"Mr. Vreiboom saw you with me at Ritzen yesterday," he said, and
she suddenly remembered the knot of Boer farmers at the hotel-door
and the staring eyes that had abashed her.
She glanced up at Burke, but his face was quite emotionless. Only
something about him--an indefinable something--held her back from
correcting the mistake that Vreiboom had made. She looked at the
seated Boer with a dignity wholly unconscious. "How do you do?"
she said coolly.
He stretched out a hand to her. His smile was familiar. "I hope
you like the farm, Mrs. Ranger," he said.
"She has hardly seen it yet," said Burke.
There was a slight pause before Sylvia gave her hand. This man
filled her with distaste. She resented his manner. She resented
the look in his eyes.
"I have no doubt I shall like it very much," she said, removing her
hand as speedily as possible.
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