“Sapazani is a great friend of ours,” said Verna; “but I should think he’d be quite capable of making himself disagreeable if he was rubbed the wrong way.”
Then they talked on, about other things and people, and the afternoon wore on. Suddenly Meyrick was seen to start as if he had been shot, and to grope wildly and hurriedly in his pockets.
“I’m most awfully sorry, Mr Halse, for being such a forgetful ass,” he said; “but I forgot to give you this”—producing a letter. “Two of our chaps came back from Ezulwini and brought it out.”
“That’s all right. I dare say it isn’t a matter of life and death,” was the characteristic answer. But the speaker’s face was not wholly guiltless of a look of astonishment as he saw the envelope; and this was evoked not so much by the sight, of the handwriting as by the fact that the missive had never been through the post. While his guests were saddling up he quickly mastered the contents, and his astonishment did not decrease.
“How should you like a run down to Ezulwini, Verna?” he said, after the police had gone.
“To Ezulwini?”
“Yes; perhaps to Durban.”
“I’d like it a lot. Makes a change. I’m quite jolly here, but still, a change bucks one up a bit.”
Her father smiled to himself. That letter had given him an idea which tickled him, for he had a very comical side.
“But what’s on?” she said. “Are we clearing out? Has it become time to?”