The other smiled drily over Suffield’s artless ramblings, for the two men had become very intimate by this time. It occurred to him that Mona had thought at one time to pass him through the same mill.
The warmth of welcome Roden met at the hands of his hostess was about equal to the warmth with which she scolded him. What did he mean by such behaviour? It was nearly a month since he had been near them. Busy? A great deal to do? Nonsense! She knew better than that. Doppersdorp Civil Servants were not the most hard-worked of their kind, there was always that redeeming point in the Godforsakenness of the place, and so on, and so on.
“That’s right, Mrs Suffield; crowd it on thick! Nothing like making up for lost time,” he laughed.
“Well, but—you deserve it.”
“Oh yes. I won’t make that bad excuse which is worse than none, and which you have been discounting before I made it. Besides, you owe me a blowing-up. I’m afraid I dragooned you far harder, when you were handed over to my tender mercies, crossing the river in the box.”
“Well, you were rather ill-tempered,” she admitted maliciously. “I wonder how Mona would have stood it.”
“Stood what? The crossing or the temper?” said Mona. “I’ve got a fine old crusted stock of the latter myself.”
“You have,” assented Roden.
“That’s rude.”
“Your own doing,” was the ready rejoinder. “You left me the choice of two evils, though, Miss Ridsdale. Wouldn’t it be ruder still to contradict a lady?”