“Poor fellow, he’s so lonely over at his camp,” she pursued. “It does him good to come over here now and then.”
“Who?” said Blachland. His mind was running on the subject of Umzilikazi’s grave, and the trustworthiness or the reverse of Hlangulu.
“Who? Why, Justin of course. Weren’t we talking about him?”
“Were—yes, that’s it. We were, but I had forgotten all about him, and was thinking of something totally different. What were you saying? That he was lonely in camp? Well, that’s very likely; but then, you see, it’s one of the conditions attendant upon prospecting. And he may as well chuck prospecting if he’s going to spend life galloping over here.”
Thought Hermia to herself, “He is a little jealous after all.”
The other went on: “He’s lonely in camp, and you’re lonely here. That’s about the British of it; eh, Hermia?”
“Well, can you wonder? Here I am, left all by myself to get through time as best I can. How long have you been away this time? Four weeks?”
“Just under. And this was a short trip. It is hard lines, rather; but then, you always knew what life up here was going to mean. You did it with your eyes open.”
“It is mean of you to throw it at me. I never thought you would have done it,” she flashed.
“Throw what? Oh, I see. I wasn’t referring to—that. You might as well give me the benefit of the doubt, Hermia. You ought to know that I was referring to our coming out here at all. We might have gone anywhere else, so it wasn’t England.”