Only there's
a kind of reason--nothing much, you know "
"I beg your pardon for cross-examining you."
"No trouble," said Mr. Hoopdriver. "Only I can't very well--I
leave it to you, you know. I don't want to make any mystery of
it, so far as that goes." Should he plunge boldly and be a
barrister? That anyhow was something pretty good. But she might
know about barristry.
"I think I could guess what you are."
"Well--guess," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"You come from one of the colonies?"
"Dear me!" said Mr. Hoopdriver, veering round to the new wind.
"How did you find out THAT?" (the man was born in a London
suburb, dear Reader.)
"I guessed," she said.
He lifted his eyebrows as one astonished, and clutched a new
piece of grass.
"You were educated up country."
"Good again," said Hoopdriver, rolling over again into her elbow.
"You're a CLAIRVOY ant." He bit at the grass, smiling. "Which
colony was it?"
"That I don't know."
"You must guess," said Hoopdriver.
"South Africa," she said. "I strongly incline to South Africa."
"South Africa's quite a large place," he said.
"But South Africa is right?"
"You're warm," said Hoopdriver, "anyhow," and the while his
imagination was eagerly exploring this new province.
"South Africa IS right?" she insisted.
He turned over again and nodded, smiling reassuringly into her
eyes.
"What made me think of South Africa was that novel of Olive
Schreiner's, you know--The Story of an African Farm.
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