"
Burke spoke slowly. "I've done what I could for him, but he's one
of my failures. You've got to grasp the fact that he's a rotter.
Have you grasped that yet?"
"I'm beginning to," Sylvia said, under her breath.
"Then you can't--possibly--many him," said Burke.
She lowered her eyes before the keenness of his look. She wished
the light in the east were not growing so rapidly.
"The question is, What am I going to do?" she said.
Burke was silent for a moment. Then with a slight gesture that
might have denoted embarrassment he said, "You don't want to stay
here, I suppose?"
She looked up again quickly. "Here--on this farm, do you mean?"
"Yes." He spoke brusquely, but there was a certain eagerness in
his attitude as he leaned towards her.
A throb of gratitude went through her. She put out her hand to him
very winningly. "What a pity I'm not a boy!" she said, genuine
regret in her voice.
He took her hand and kept it. "Is that going to make any
difference?" he said.
She looked at him questioningly. It was difficult to read his face
in the gloom. "All the difference, I am afraid," she said. "You
are very generous--a real good comrade. If I were a boy, there's
nothing I'd love better. But, being a woman, I can't live here
alone with you, can I? Not even in South Africa!"
"Why not?" he said.
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