"No."
"I supposed you had taken the voyage any number of times. But about the seasons, it doesn't count for much until you come to Christmas. No England-born mortal can hang up his stocking in mid-summer without a pang of regretful homesickness."
Weldon laughed.
"Do you substitute a refrigerator for a chimney corner?" he asked. "But are you England-born?"
"Yes. My father went out only seven years ago. The 'home' tradition is so strong that I was sent back to school and for a year of social life. My little brother goes to Harrow in two years. Even in Cape Town, a few people still hold true to the tradition of the public school."
Weldon nodded assent.
"We meet it in Canada, now and then; not too often, though. So in reality you are almost as much a stranger to Cape Town as I am."
"Quite. My father says it is all changed now. It used to be a lazy little place; now it is pandemonium, soldiers and supplies going out, time-expired men and invalids coming in. Mr. Weldon—"
His questioning smile answered the pause in her sentence.
"Well?" he asked, after a prolonged interval.