Vivienne, who had been for a little morning walk, and now sat on a rock some distance away, saw Roper, much intrigued, watching the proceedings from under his waggon. When he could no longer contain his curiosity he slouched over to Kerry.
“What’s all this? Whose boys are these?”
“Mine. Any objection to them?”
“Well!—What the Halifax?—How do you travel then? Where is your waggon?”
“I can’t remember ever having mentioned a waggon,” was the imperturbable answer.
That was the secret of it all then! He had no waggon. Only a horse and two native carriers. Vivienne to whom the whole conversation came clear on the morning air witnessed also Roper’s stupified amazement.
“So you’re just hanging on to me?” he snarled at last.
“I like pleasant company.”
“To Jerusalem with you—well, I don’t!”
“It’s a free country.” Kerry’s manner was unfailingly suave, but at this juncture he arose from the mound on which he was seated and made it clear that as far as he was concerned the conversation was closed. There was nothing left for Roper but to return to his own business of making things as unpleasant as possible for everyone in his camp. All through that torrid day he prowled and swore around his waggons, furiously tinkering and greasing and patching up the injuries they had sustained during the forced trek, giving his boys no rest from labour and abuse. But never once did he come near Vivienne, nor throw her a glance. She sat in her tent most of the day, mending a hole in the knee of her knickerbockers or staring at the sunlit land about her.