Chapter Twenty Two.
The War-Dance at Tongwana’s.
Elvesdon was seated at a table within an open tent, together with his clerk—a table littered with official books and documents. He rose quickly at the sound of horse-hoofs and went forth to welcome the party.
“Thornhill—how are you? Miss Carden—you are taking on a fine healthy sunburn—and as for Diane chasseresse—why words fail.”
He had taken to so nicknaming Edala since the bushbuck hunt and she seemed rather to like it. They laughed, and after a little more banter Thornhill said:
“Had any bother with the people, Elvesdon?”
“Not a grain. They’ve all paid up right willingly. It’s when we get to Babatyana’s place that we may find trouble.”
“Where is the dance to be held, Mr Elvesdon?” said Evelyn. “Here?”