But whatever the ground for such aspirations they were not to be fulfilled, for at that moment a voice hailed her—an astonished voice.
“Why, Miss Vidal, good morning. Who in the world would have dreamed of meeting you up here?”
“I might say the same, Mr Lamont. I thought I would take a bit of a stroll while all Gandela was sleeping off last night’s orgies. Strange, but I’ve never been up here. I suppose it is because the climb rather froze Lucy off—and I didn’t bother to come alone. Do you know I think this country makes people very lazy.”
“Oh yes. There’s a steaminess about it that gets on to one’s energies somehow. It’ll infect you too when you’ve been out here a little longer.”
“Now don’t talk down to me, Mr Lamont. I feel quite an old pioneer. I came up here during the war, you know.”
“Yes, yes. Just over two years ago.”
“Well, you needn’t be so supercilious. Especially as you don’t seem to have been over-successful yourself this morning.”
“Successful? Oh, I see,” following her glance to the magazine rifle he carried. “No. Game is scarce since the rinderpest, and especially right near Gandela, like this.”
“Look what I found just now, in the bush, before I got to the top here,” she said. “It must be some sort of native ornament.”
She held out to him two white cow-tails, fastened to a kind of bracelet of twisted sinew.