Now the situation stood explained. Edala’s strange behaviour, the cold aloofness with which she treated her father, except at rare intervals. Heavens, what a ghastly shadow to lie between them! Yet, as it did so he, perhaps her behaviour was not altogether unnatural.
“The boys didn’t believe it?” he repeated.
“No—never. They grew up firmly refusing to believe it. They were fine youngsters. Jim, poor chap, was killed in the Matopos in ’96. He was the eldest. Hyland is broking at the Rand. By the way, Thornhill was telling me the other day that he expected him down on a visit.”
“Yes, I know. There was someone else he was expecting, an English relative. She wrote to him from Durban, inviting herself, and he wired her back to roll up as soon as she liked. Then he heard nothing more about her. By the Lord, I wonder,” he broke off. “I wonder if she got hold of this yam about him, and concluded to stop away. It might be.”
“So it might. But what I wonder at, Elvesdon, is that this affair should be all news to you. Why it caused some considerable kick up at the time.”
“At the time. That’s just it. It must have been during the couple of years I was over in England and the States.—Come in,” as a knock came at the door.
“Please sir,” said the native constable, who was proud of airing his English, “dere’s one lady—like see Nkose.”
“One lady? Look here Isaac. Do you mean a ‘lady’ or some bywoner vrouw, come for a summons against somebody?”
“Dis one lady, sir. She ask for Mr Elvesdon, not for de magistrate.”
“Oh, show her in. Don’t go, doctor, till we see what she wants.”