"Petrol!" she ejaculated. "One of those stinking motor-cars! Why can't people use horses, like gentlemen? What's the matter with a nice mule, even?"
As they slouched warily round the house and came in view of the stoep she emitted a staccato whistle of dismay. Tethered out upon the vagabondish grass was—not one motor-car, but three! An opulent thing of blinking brass and crimson leather arrogated to itself the exclusive shade of the largest tree; a long grey torpedo affair of two seats occupied the pasturage of the Kerry cow; and blistering in the sunshine, with several fowls perched upon it, was an ancient Ford wearing the roystering air of a scallywag come home for good.
"That old boch-ma-keer-ie bird knew something!" muttered the painter.
"I don't like the look of this!"
They paused to take counsel of each other, then presently advanced, Clive approaching her own front door with the stealthy glide of a pickpocket, April tip-toeing behind her. The idea was to get indoors without being seen, listen in the hall to discover whether the visitors were agreeable ones, and if not, to take refuge in the kitchen until they had departed. Unfortunately one of them came out of the front door to shake his pipe on the stoep as Clive and April reached the steps.
"Why, it's old Kerry Sarle!" cried Clive heartily, and stealth fell from her. She beamed with happiness, and shook his hand unceasingly, pouring forth questions like water.
"When did you get back? Why didn't you come before? What did you bring a crowd for? Who have you got with you?"
"Only Kenna. The crowd doesn't belong to me. They've come to buy pictures or something, and are in your studio. I haven't seen them. We are in the dining-room."
His speech was disjointed and halting, his amazed gaze fixed upon the girl standing thunderstruck at the foot of the steps. Clive forged on into the house with a gloomy eye; she hated to sell pictures, even when she needed the money. April and Sarle were left together, and in a moment he was down the step by her side. They stood looking at each other with the memory of their last kiss kindling between them. He had been bitterly hurt, but he loved and trusted her beyond all things that were, and could not conceal the happiness in his eyes. Only for the open studio windows and the round-eyed piccannins, he would have gathered her to his heart; as it was he gathered her hands instead and held them where they could feel its beating.
"Darling! Thank God I have found you."
Kenna had not betrayed her, then. The blow was still to fall. She managed to smile a little, but she had turned very pale, and there was something in her silence chilling even to his ardent spirit.