"How do you do, Mrs. Ranger? We've just come over to pay our
respects," he announced in a big, hearty voice. "You'll hardly
believe it, but we've only recently heard of Burke's marriage.
It's been a nine days' wonder with us, but now I've seen you I
cease to marvel at anything but Burke's amazing luck."
There was something so engagingly naive in this compliment that
Sylvia found it impossible to be formal. She smiled and slipped to
the ground.
"You are Mr. Merston," she said. "How kind of you to come over! I
am afraid I am alone at present, but Burke is sure to be in soon.
I hope you have had some refreshment."
She gave her horse to a Kaffir boy, and went with her new friend up
the steps of the _stoep_.
"My wife!" said Merston in his jolly voice.
Sylvia went forward with an eagerness that wilted in spite of her
before she reached its object. Mrs. Merston did not rise to meet
her. She sat prim and upright and waited for her greeting, and
Sylvia knew in a moment before their hands touched each other that
here was no kindred spirit.
"How do you do?" said Mrs. Merston formally.
She was a little woman, possibly ten years Sylvia's senior, with a
face that had once been pink and white and now was the colour of
pale brick all over. Her eyes were pale and seemed to carry a
perpetual grievance.
Pages:
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138