She smiled at him.
"Are we going to have another picnic?"
He smiled in answer, and she felt oddly relieved, All sense of
strain and embarrassment left her. She sat up and helped him
spread the feast.
The fare was very simple, but she found it amply satisfying. She
partook of Mary Ann's butter with appreciation.
"I can make butter," she told him presently. "And bake bread?"
said Burke.
She nodded, laughing. "Yes, and cook joints and mend clothes, too.
Who does your mending? Mary Ann?"
"I do my own," said Burke. "I cook, too, when Mary Ann takes leave
of absence. But I have a Kaffir house boy, Joe, for the odd jobs.
And there's a girl, too, uglier than Mary Ann, a relation of
hers--called Rose, short for Fair Rosamond. Haven't you seen Rose
yet?"
Sylvia's laugh brought a smile to his face. It was a very
infectious laugh. Though she sobered almost instantly, it left a
ripple of mirth behind on the surface of their conversation. He
carried the tray away again when the meal was over, firmly refusing
her offer to wash up.
"Mary Ann can do it in the morning," he said.
"Where is she now?" asked Sylvia.
He sat down beside her, and took out his pipe. "They are over in
their own huts. They don't sleep in the house."
"Does no one sleep in the house?" she asked quickly.
"I do," said Burke.
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