“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, rather lamely. “The affair was of no great account. You’d have got out of it anyhow. I think perhaps, I’d better start. Good-bye.”
But she ignored the proffered hand. She deliberately put hers behind her back.
“Doesn’t it occur to you,” she said, “that I may be a little bit nervous going home alone after that experience? There may be another of the same species—what did you call it—indhlondhlo?—somewhere near. I never was afraid of a snake before.”
Then he surrendered with a good grace—a very good grace—and profuse apologies.
“I confess I missed that point of view. Let me collect your painting things. Do you often come here to draw?”
“Yes, and everywhere else. I love it. I believe I could do something real in that way if only I had a show.” And there was a clouding over of the speaker’s face that was not lost upon her escort.
“By Jove! I should think you could,” he answered, scrutinising the nearly finished sketch. “Why, this is perfect.”
“I don’t know if it’ll ever be finished,” she said. “I believe I’d be scared to come and sit here again. I don’t know. I’ll bring a shot-gun loaded with buckshot. No snake on earth could stand against that.”
“Rather not,” answered the other, vastly amused by this readiness, a downright matter-of-fact way of looking at things. “I suppose—er—you know how to handle firearms.”
“Oh yes. I’ve learnt that. But I never bother about carrying them for purposes of defence. There’s no use for it here.”