Turning round she saw that the beauteous lady in the holland dress was sitting on a stone opposite her, smiling kindly. Her hair was like sovereigns shining in the sunlight, Poppy thought.
"Do tell me what is the matter!"
"Nothing's the matter," said Poppy defiantly.
The lady laughed long and merrily as though she found something refreshing in the child's sulky misery.
"Well, but how silly of you to cry and make your eyes red for nothing! You've got such pretty eyes, too!"
Poppy stared at her, gasping.
"Oh! If I only thought I had pretty eyes—" she said breathlessly.
"Well, you have indeed. And they are most uncommon too—just the colour of lilac, and 'put in with a smutty finger' like an Irish girl's. Are you Irish?"
Poppy was about to inform her that she was a Fenian, but she thought better of it.
"I was born here in Bloemfontein," she answered.