“Oh, that wouldn’t count. To begin with, they wouldn’t believe what I’ve just been telling you—would say I’d invented it. They’ll believe it fast enough in a week or two’s time though. By the way, it was the sight of old Qubani and his red cap that made me miss that last tilt at the peg, and a good thing I did miss it. Providential, as Father Mathias would say.”
“Father Mathias? Have you seen him lately?” said Clare.
“We travelled part of the way together when I was coming back from Lyall’s. We were caught in a nasty dry thunderstorm and took refuge in Zwabeka’s kraal. It was there I overheard that nice little conspiracy.”
“And so you travelled with Father Mathias?” said Clare. “I hope you were nice to him. He is a great friend of ours.”
“Nice to him, Miss Vidal?” answered Lamont, raising his brows as if amused at the question. “Why not? He is a very nice man. Why should I be other than nice to him?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Except that—well, he is a priest.”
“What then? Oh, I see what you mean. But I have no prejudice against priests. On the contrary—my experience of them is that they are kindly, tolerant men, very self-sacrificing and with considerable knowledge of human nature. When you’ve said that, it follows that they are almost invariably good company. This one was decidedly so. Why on earth should I not be ‘nice’ to him?”
“Oh well, you know—you Protestants do have prejudices of the kind,” she answered somewhat lamely.
“But I am not a Protestant.”
“Not a Protestant? I don’t quite understand.”