“Possibly,” she answered with a smile. “I’m going to take a little stroll. It’s such a lovely morning. Will you go with me, Mr Blachland?”
“Delighted,” was the answer.
The two left behind nudged each other.
“Old Blachland’s got it too,” quoth Earle, with a knowing wink. “I say, though, the young ’un ’ll be ready to cut his throat when he finds he’s been stolen a march on. They all seem to tumble when she comes along. I say, Bayfield, you’ll be the next.”
“When I am I’ll tell you,” was the placid reply. “Let’s go round to the kraals.”
“Well, Hilary, and how am I looking? Rather well, don’t you think?”
She was dressed quite simply, but prettily, and wore a plain but very becoming hat. The brisk, clear cold suited her dark style, and had lent colour to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes—and the expression of the latter now, as she turned them upon her companion, was very soft.
“Yes. Rather well,” he answered, not flinching from her gaze, yet not responding to it.
“More than ‘rather’ well, you ought to say,” she smiled. “And now, Hilary, what have you been doing since we parted? Tell me all about yourself.”