“Yes,” she said eagerly. “Quickly, before Poppa comes back.”
It was the work of an instant. He snapped twice in case of a failure, then closed the camera and put it away.
“Will you send me one?”
“Or bring it, if you will allow me. I am only a few miles off.”
Chrissie made no response to this but looked into her coffee cup as though it were a crystal ball in which she could read the future.
“I am sorry Mr Retief should feel so badly about the railway,” said Braddon at last. “It’s got to come whether he likes it or not.”
“That’s what I tell him.”
“You are not against us then, Miss Retief?”
Old Nick lumbering back to his chair perhaps prevented her from expressing any opinion on the matter, but she slid Braddon a blue glance that seemed to be an answer to several things besides his question. The old man, who had not recovered his temper, continued to smoke in gloomy silence like a smouldering fire ready to burst into flame at the least puff of wind. Braddon made an effort at conciliation by proffering an inquiry or two as to farming affairs generally, but met with no marked success.
“How goes it with the sheep, Oom?” Oom Nick glowered at him for some time before grunting a response.