This tickled Selwood amazingly, and he burst into a roar.
“Well, that wouldn’t hold good of our part,” he said when he had recovered.
“Oh no, no,” assented the stranger, hurriedly. “Let me clear myself of that charge of heresy without delay. Words are inadequate to describe the beauties of the road as soon as we got into these mountains. I’m serious, mind.”
“Well, we must contrive to show you more of them,” said his hostess. “Are you fond of shooting, Mr Sellon?”
“He just is,” put in Renshaw. “He kept us in game all along the road, and in chronic hot water with all the Dutchmen whose places we passed, by knocking over springboks under their very windows without so much as a ‘by your leave.’”
“Well, it’s better to be the shooter than the shootee, eh, Fanning? But that joke’ll keep,” laughed Sellon, significantly.
“We can show you plenty of fun in that line here,” said Christopher. “The mountains are swarming with rhybok, and there are any amount of partridges and quail. Plenty of bushbucks, too, in the kloofs, and guinea-fowl. Hallo, by Jove! it’s time to go and count in,” he added, jumping up from his chair.
Then the three men started off to do the regulation evening round of the kraals, while the ladies went their ways, either to give a supervising eye to the preparation of supper, or to while away an idle half-hour prior to that comfortable repast.
“Well, Violet, and what do you think of the stranger?” said Marian, when they were left to themselves.
“Oh, I think him rather a joke. Likely to turn out very good fun, I should say,” was the careless reply.