"Handsome drawing-rooms and an idle life are not within the reach of every woman, nowadays, Mr. Lang," coldly responded Esther, as they shook hands; and the next minute the door closed behind them.
"Horrid man!" cried Esther wrathfully, when the visitors had gone. "Didn't his insufferable patronage make your blood boil? He might well ask if we knew him by name; of course, we do—too well, for, according to Jack, the Springkloof Mine was a byword on the Randt, from the way in which the original owners were cheated out of the property by Mr. Lang and his syndicate. I remember he mentioned this Lang as a man who was well known at Johannesburg to have mixed in many shady transactions."
"What a pity that nice Mrs. Burnside should be obliged to associate with him! He evidently admires her; but, to tell you a secret, Esther, there's somebody who admires her even more—and that's Harold."
"Poor Harold! How can he ever afford to marry? Mrs. Burnside is dependent on her aunt for everything, isn't she?"
"Yes, and her aunt intends her to marry Mr. Lang. Poor thing! I can see she is simply miserable at the idea of it."
Esther took up Mr. Lang's card, to read the address. "He might well say West Kensington was out of the way! If he ever comes again—I don't mean to be at home." And she tore it into the smallest fragments.
CHAPTER XI.
On the Island.
"This is what I call perfectly delightful," pronounced Miss Waller solemnly. She looked meaningly at May, who stood near, looking her best in pale blue, with a big white hat, but her niece pretended not to hear.
A week had elapsed since Mrs. Burnside's visit to the Inglis girls; and it was again Saturday afternoon. It had been a week of absolutely tropical heat, exhausting to a degree; and Mr. Lang, noticing May's pale cheeks, had proposed a trip up the river in his steam-launch. So, with their mutual friends the Wingates, and some other people, they were now bound for an island some distance above Kingston, where they intended to land and have tea.