The pretty little church at Ezulwini was crammed. Sub-Inspector Dering, incidentally due to leave for the seat of war that evening, acted best man, and subsequently, at the big spread at the Nodwengu Hotel, in the course of his speech pointed out that having helped to “kill” one good man that morning he was due to go off and get another good man killed, himself to wit, that evening, but that he deserved for coming in too late to pick the combination of rose and lily of the whole country for himself; which hit evoked vast laughter and applause, and the festivities flowed on.
“Father,” said Verna, in the interval before leaving. “Father, dear old father, what will you do without me? Shall you go back home or what?”
Her tears were falling as she held him round the neck, gazing wistfully into the strong, weather-beaten face, which in spite of her present great happiness it wrung her heart to realise she should see no more, at any rate, for some time to come.
“No, not yet, anyhow. I shall go and take part in this scuffle,” he answered. “Perhaps, later on, I’ll come and help knock over some of Denham’s pheasants in the old country, if he’s agreeable.”
“If he’s agreeable? What’s that, Halse?” repeated Denham, who had just then come in. “Why, the sooner you like, the sooner the better for us. Come now. We’ll have a jolly voyage all together.”
“No; I’ll see this scrap through first,” was the trader’s reply, given with characteristic terseness. “Later on, perhaps.”
Then there was a tremendous “send off,” and thereafter the bulk of Ezulwini—male—spent the rest of the day and evening proposing the healths of the departed bride and bridegroom.